LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



1/ 




CHARACTERISTICS 

FXOM THE WETTINGS OF 

JOHN HENRY NEWMAN. 



CHARACTERISTICS 

FROM THE WRITINGS OF 



JOHN HENRY NEWMAN. 



BEING SELECTIONS 

PERSONAL, HISTORICAL, PHILOSOPHICAL, AND 
RELIGIOUS, FROM HIS VARIOUS WORKS. 



ARRANGED BY 

William Samuel Lilly, 

OF THE INNER TEMPLE, BARRISTER-AT-LAW, 

WITH THE AUTHOR'S APPROVAL. 



Ille velut fidis arcana sodalibus olim 
Credebat libris y neque si male cesserat unquam 
Decurrens alio, neque si bene ; quo fit ut omnis 
Votiva pateat veluti descripta tabella 
Vita senis, 

NEW 

D. & J. SADLIER & CO., 31 Barclay Street. 

MONTREAL: 275 Notre Dame Street. 
1884. 



Copyright, 
D. & J. SADLIER & CO., 
1885. 



I DEDICATE THIS VOLUME TO 
S. L. L. 

WHO HAS DONE SO MUCH TO LIGHTEN MY LABOR AND TO 
ENHANCE MY PLEASURE IN COMPILING IT* 



PREFACE. 



It may be well by way of introduction to this volume, to state, as 
simply and in as few words as possible, the aim and scope which 
I proposed to myself in compiling it. 

My end has been to contribute, as far as I could, to the wider 
and more accurate knowledge of a writer concerning whom an 
amount of ignorance and misunderstanding still prevails, which 
is especially surprising, considering the high place he admittedly 
holds, both as a thinker and a master of style. A recent critic 
has described him, as " the man in the working of whose indivi- 
dual mind the intelligent portion of the English public is more 
interested than in that of any other living person." * This de- 
scription is, I think, correct : and yet, although Dr. Newman's 
inner life has from various circumstances been laid completely 
bare to the world, there is probably no living person who has been 
so strangely and so persistently misconceived. Into the cause of 
those misconceptions it is not necessary for me to enquire. It is 
sufficient to remark that for the last ten years they have been 
gradually clearing away, and that he has himself provided the 
best means for their removal in the books to which the verses 
quoted on my title-page so aptly apply. In the following pages 
i have endeavored to give an account, through extracts from those 
books, of his present views on the chief matters of general interest 
on which he has written from time to time. I have sought espe- 
cially to present his mind on the great religious questions which 
have so largely exercised the intellect of this age, and which, even 
in the judgment of those who are unable to accept his conclu- 
sions, he has faced, investigated, and determined for himself with 
an unflinching Courage, and an unswerving steadfastness of pur- 

* Austin Poetry of the Period, p 178. 
7 



s 



Preface, 



pose, almost as rare, perhaps, as the high mental endowments 
which he has brought to the task. 

Dr. Newman's writings, most of them of an occasional character, 
extend to thirty-four volumes, and in making my selections from 
them, I have been careful to choose passages which, while suffer- 
ing the least by severance from the context, would present the 
ideas I was desirous to exhibit in their completeness and matu- 
rity. Hence the title I have given it — a title, I may observe, 
which does not altogether satisfy me, but for which I have been 
unable to find any better substitute in English. Hence, too, it 
is, I have drawn chiefly from his later writings, for it is, of course, 
in his Catholic works that his views are found in their full devel- 
opment and final resolution. 

Such has been the principle upon which I have proceeded 
in making my selections. In classifying them, my task was less 
difficult, as each seemed naturally to fall under one of the four 
divisions of Personal, Philosophical, Historical, and Religious, 
Parti., denominated Personal, with the exception of the letter 
appended to it, is taken entirely from the Apologia. Part IV., 
which is termed " Religious," is subdivided into 'three section*, 
styled respectively Protestantism, Anglicanism, and Catholicism, 
and is intended to exhibit Dr. Newman's views on the more salient 
characteristics of those systems. Omissions in the text — they 
are always immaterial — are * duly noted, and a few words which 
I have been obliged to introduce for the sake of continuity, are 
enclosed in brackets, f as are also any notes added by me. The 
notes printed without brackets are Dr. Newman's, and, with $ 
one exception, will be found in the original text. 

In compiling my volume I have primarily endeavored to con- 
sult for readers who, from want of leisure or from other reasons, 
aie unable to procure and peruse for themselves Dr. Newman's 
writings at large, and who desire to possess, in a compendious 
form, a summary, prepared with his approval, of his ultimate 
judgments on the most important matters of which he has written 
during the last half century. There is, however, another class to 
whom also my volume may possibly be of service. It may, I think, 
prove sometimes useful to persons more or less acquainted with 
Dr. Newman's works, but not always able to find, just when they 



* By the mark* 



t Thus [ ]. 



t At p. 347. 



Preface. 



9 



want it, some striking passage which dwells vaguely in their 
memories. For the convenience of such readers I have taken 
care to make the index as copious as I could. On the whole 
I may, perhaps, say, that I have endeavored to construct my 
volume on much the same principles as those which Lord Bacon 
lays down for the compilation of a book of* Institutions " of the 
law.* " Principally, 5 ' he says, " it ought to have two properties, 
the one a perspicuous and clear order or method, and the other 
an universal latitude or comprehension, that the student may 
have a little prenotion of everything." 

And now, perhaps, I have said enough or more than enough in 
explanation of the manner in which I have discharged my very 
subordinate part in this work. But I must not omit to record my 
thanks to my revered friend, Dr. Newman, for the readiness with 
which he assented to my undertaking it, and for the unwearied 
patience with which he has allowed me to encroach upon his time 
by the questions which I have occasionally found it necessary 10 
put to him ; nay, more than that, for the thoughtful kindness with 
which he has himself, in many cases, anticipated difficulties and 
favored me with suggestions. I should, however, remark that, 
in claiming for my compilation his approval, I refer only to the 
sanction he has given for the statement, that it correctly represents 
his present opinions on the subjects of which it treats. For the 
actual selection of the passages, and the order in which they are 
placed, as well as for the headings prefixed to them, I am solely 
responsible. 

It only remains for me to express my acknowledgments to the 
various firms which have published for Dr. Newman for the per- 
mission readily accorded me by them to make extracts from the 
works in which they are respectively interested. I subjoin a cata- 
logue of the editions of Dr. Newman's works which I have had 
before me. They are, I believe, in all cases the latest. 

W. S. L. 

London, June nth, 1874. 

* Proposal for amending the Laws of England, Works. Bonn's edition, 
Vrl 1. p. 66g. 



Preface. 



1-8. Parochial and Plain Sermons. {Rivingtons,) Ed. of 
1873. 

9. Sermons on Subjects of the Day. {Rivingtons.) Ed. of 

1871. 

10. University Sermons. {Rivingtons.) 3d Ed. 

11. Sermons to Mixed Congregations. {Burns and Oates,) 
4th Ed. 

12. Occasional Sermons. {Burns and Oates.) 3d Ed. 

13. Lectures on the Prophetical Office of the Church, 
{Rivingtons.) {Out of print.) 

14. Lectures on Justification. {Rivingtons.) 3d Ed. 

15. Lectures on the Difficulties of Anglicans, with Letter 
to Dr. Pusey. {Bums and Oates.) 4th Ed. 

16. Lectures on the Present Position of Catholics 
{Bums and Oates.) 4th Ed. 

17. Essay in Aid of a Grammar of Assent. {Burns and 
Oates.) 4th Ed. 

18. Two Essays on Miracles. {Pickering.) 3d Ed. 

19. 20. Essays Critical and Historical, with Notes, i 
Poetry. 2. Rationalism. 3. De la Mennais. 4. Palmer on 
Faith and Unity. 5. St. Ignatius. 6. Prospects of the An- 
glican Church. 7. The Anglo-American Church. 8. Coun - 
tess of Huntingdon. 9. Catholicity of the Anglican 
Church. 10. The Antichrist of Protestants. 11. Milman's 
Christianity. 12. Reformation of the Eleventh Century. 
13. Private Judgment. 14. Davison. 15. Keble^ {Pick- 
ering.) 

21. Discussions and Arguments, i. How to accomplish it. 

2. Antichrist of the Fathers. 3. Scripture and the Creed. 
4. Tamworth Reading Room. 5. Who's to Blame? 6. An 
Argument for Christianity. {Pickering.) 

22. Pamphlets, i. Suffragan Bishops. 2. Letter to a Magazine. 

3. Letter to Faussett. 4. Letter to Jelf. 5. Letter to the 
Bishop of Oxford. {Out of print.) 

23. Idea of a University, i. Nine Discourses. 2. Occa- 
sional Lectures and Essays. {Picketing.) 3d Ed. 

24. Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine. 
{Toovey.) 2d Ed. 



Preface. 



ii 



25. Annotated Translation of Athanasius. {Parker^ 

* 26. Theological Tracts, i. Dissertatiunculae. 2. Doctrinal 

Causes of Arianism. 3. Apollinariani&m. 4. St. Cyril's 
Formula. 5. Ordo de Tempore. 6. Douay Version of 
Scripture. {Picketing.) 

* 27. The Arians of the Fourth Century. {Lumley.) 3d 

Ed. 

* 28-30. Historical Sketches, i. The Turks. 2. Cicero. 3. 

Apollonius. 4. Primitive Christianity. 5. Church of the 
Fathers. 6. St. Chrysostom. 7. Theodoret. 8. St. Bene- 
dict, g. Benedictine Schools. 10. Universities. 11. 
Northmen and Normans. 12. Mediaeval Oxford. 13. Con- 
vocation of Canterbury. {Pickering.) 

* 31. Loss and Gain. {Bums and Oates.) 6th Ed. 

* 32. Callista. {Pickering.) 2d Ed. 

* 33. Verses on Various Occasions. {Burns and Oates) 4th 

Ed. 

* 34. Apologia pro Vita sua. {Longmans.) 3d Ed. 

The volumes marked with an asterisk have already appeared in 
the new and uniform edition of Dr. Newman's Works, now in 
course of publication. 



CONTENTS. 



Part L— PERSONAL. 

PAGl 



Early Religious Impressions, ...... 15 

First Years of Residence at Oriel, 19 

Mr. Keble's Teaching, ... • 21 

Hurrell Froude, ........ 24 

The Teaching of Antiquity, , 26 

Travels in the South of Europe, • • . • • • 30 

The Tracts for the Times, 33 

Dr. Pusey, 38 

The Via Media, . . . . . . . . 39 

Growth of the " Anglo-Catholic " Party, . . 41 

Traat Ninety, 42 

" Securus Judicat Orbis Terrarum," ..... 45 

Three further Blows, • 50 

From 1841 to 1845, • 52 

Reception, 57 

Since 1845, 59 

The Anglican Church seen from Without, .... 60 

Letter to Father Coleridge on Anglican Orders, ... 63 

Part II.— PHILOSOPHICAL. 

Intellectual Education pre-eminently a Discipline in Accu- 
racy of Mind, . . .71 

The Popular Conception of an " Intellectual Man," . . 73 

The Origin of Political and Religious Watchwords, . . 74' 
Real Apprehension of the Affections and Passions possible 

only by Experience, 75 

Realization, . .76 

Our Notions of Things merely Aspects of them, ... 78 

How Men really Reason in Concrete Matters, ... 79 

*3 



14 



Contents. 



PAGE 



Intellectual Obstructions, 87 

The Laws of the Mind the Expression of the Divine Will, . 87 

First Principles, ......... 89 

The Ethics of Culture, ......... 90 

Culture and Vice, • • 95 

The World's Philosophy of Religion, . , . " . 97 

The Doctrine of Retributive Punishment, • • • • 100 

What is Theology? ........ 102 

Physical Philosophy and Theology, 106 

The Baconian Philosophy, . 108 

Rationalism, 109 

The God of Monotheism and the God of Rationalism, . . 113 

The " Duty of Scepticism," 115 

Apprehension of God through the Conscience, . . . 116 
Hume's Argument against the Jewish and Christian Mi- 
racles, ...... ... 122 

Gibbon's " Five Causes," ....... 124 

The Principle of Faith, ...... • 127 

Part III.— HISTORICAL. 

English Jealousy of Church and Army, . . . 133 

Irish Discontent, 136 

The Northman Character, 140 

Northman and Norman, 14 2 

Athens, 144 

Oxford, . 143 

St. Benedict and Early Monachism, . 149 

The Death of St. Bede, ... .... 153 

Abelard, 155 

Pope Liberius, . . . 159 

Death of St. Gregory VII., 159 

P jme and Constantinople in 1566, 160 

The Election of St. Pius V., 161 

The Battle of Lepanto, 164 

The Religious History of England, . . . . .166 
Catholicism in England from the Sixteenth to the Nine- 
teenth Century, *75 
The Re-establishment of the Hierarchy, . . . .178 



Contents. 1 5 

Part IV.— RELIGIOUS. 
Section I.— PROTESTANTISM. 

PAGB 

Protestantism and Historical Christianity, . . . 187 

Bible Religion, 188 

Puritanism, ......... 190 

Muscular Christianity, . . . . . . 191 

English Religious Ideas, 192 

A Protestant View of Conversions, ..... 197 

Protestant Texts, . 199 

Protestant Image Worship, 201 

The Right of Private Judgment or the Private Right of 

Judgment, . ........ 202 

The Rationale of Protestant Persecution, .... 203 

Protestantism drifting into Scepticism, . . . . 205 

Section II.— ANGLICANISM. 

The Anglican View of the Visible Church, .... 207 

The Branch Theory, 208 

The Church of England, 210 

Anglican Orders, • • . 213 

Anglican Ordinances, 223 

The High Church Party, • 232 

The Christian Year, . 234 

The Tractarian Movement, 237 

Anglo-Catholic or Patristico-Protestant? .... 240 

The Non-jurors and the Lesson they Teach, .... 244 

The Anglican Argument from Differences among Catholics, 247 

Anglican Objections from Antiquity, 249 

Invincible Ignorance and Anglicanism, .... 254 
Fundamental Difference between Catholicism and Angli- 
canism, .......... 259 

Section III.— CATHOLICISM. 

Catholicism and the Religions of the World, . . . 260 

Faith in the Catholic Church, . . . . . . 263 

Faith in any other Religious Body than the Catholic Church 

impossible, . . . . . . » . . 269 



i6 



Contents. 







PAGS 


Dispositions for joining the Cathol 


ic Church, 


27C 


No Logical Alternative between Catholicism and Scepticism, 


273 


A Convert, .... 




2 75 


Faith and Devotion, 




276 


Private Judgment among Catholics, . • . . • 


279 


The Aim of the Catholic Church, 




2Sl 


The Religion of Catholics, 




233 


The Privileges of Catholics, . 


• • • & • • 


290 


Integrity of Catholic Doctrine, 


• ••••• 


291 


Transubstantiarion, . 




292 


Mass, 


..«••» 


293 


Benediction, . • . . 


«•*... 


294 


Confession, .... 




295 


Counsels of Perfection, . 




296 


Relics and Miracles, 




293 


The Earliest Recorded Apparition 


of the Blessed Virgin, 


305 


The Antecedent Argument for an Infallible Arbiter of Faith 




and Morals, 




306 


The Practical Wisdom of the Holy 


See, • 


309 


The Obligations of Catholics to the Holy See, 


310 


English Catholics and Pius IX., 




314 


Scandals in the Catholic Church, 




315 


«' Popular " Catholics, 




316 


A Bad Catholic, 




319 


The Idea of a Saint, 




321 


Lingering Imperfections of Saints ; 


Personal and Temporary 




Errors of Popes, 




323 


St. John Baptist, 




323 


St. John Evangelist, 




324 


St. Mary Magdalen, 




325 


St. Augustine, . , . 


«••••• 


327 


5t. Philip Neri, . . . 


..*••• 


329 


Mater Dei, .... 


• • • • • • 


332 


Water Purissima, . . . 


• a • • • • 


334 


Refugium Peccatorum, . 




35 7 


Sine Labe Originali Concepta, 




33 7 


Maria Assumpta, 




343 


Growth of the Cultus of Mary, 




345 



PART I. 



I. 



EARLY RELIGIOUS IMPRESSIONS. 

When I was fifteen (in the autumn of 1S16), I fell under the in 
fluences of a definite creed, and received into my intellect impres- 
sions of dogma, which, through God's mercy, have never been 
effaced or obscured. Above and beyond the conversations and 
sermons of the excellent man, long dead, the Rev. Walter Mayers 
of Pembroke College, Oxford, who was the human means of this 
beginning of divine faith in me, was the effect of the books which 
he put into my hands, all of the school of Calvin. One of the first 
books I read was a book of Romaine's ; I neither recollect the title 
nor the contents, except one doctrine, which, of course, I do not 
include among those which I believe to have come from a divine 
source, viz., the doctrine of final perseverance. I received it at 
once, and believed that the inward conversion of which I was con- 
scious (and of which I am still more certain than that I have hands 
or feet) would last into the next life, and that I was elected to 
eternal glory. I have no consciousness that this belief had any 
tendency whatever to lead me to be careless about pleasing God. 
1 retained it until the age of twenty-one, when it gradually faded 
away ; but I believe that it had some influence on my opinions 
in . . , isolating me from the objects which surrounded me 
. . . and making me rest in the thought of two and two only 
absolute and luminously self-evident beings, myself and my Cre- 
ator ; for while I considered myself predestined to salvation my 
mind did not dwell upon others, as fancying them simply passed 
over, not predestined to eternal death. I only thought of the 
mercy to myself. 

The detestable doctrine last mentioned is simply denied and 
abjured, unless my memory strangely deceives me, by the writer 
who made a deeper impression on my mind than any other, and 

15 



i6 



Personal. 



to whom (humanly speaking) I almost owe my soul — Thomas 

Scott of Aston Sandford. . . . What, I suppose, will strike any 
reader of Scott's history and writings is his bold unworldl iness 
and vigorous independence of mind. He followed truth wherever 
it led him, beginning with Unitarianism, and ending in a zealous 
faith in the Holy Trinity. ... It was he who first planted 
deep in my mind that fundamental truth of religion. . \ . 

Besides his unworldiness, what I also admired in Scott was his 
resolute opposition to Antinomianism, and the minutely practical 
character of his writings. They show him to be a true English 
man, and I deeply felt his influence ; and for years I used almost as 
proverbs what I considered to be the scope and issue of his doc- 
trine, '''Holiness rather than peace, " and " Growth the only true 
evidence of life." . . . 

Of the Calvinistic tenets, the only one which took root in my 
mind was the fact of heaven and hell, divine favor and divine 
wrath, of the justified and the unjustified. The notion that the 
regenerate and the justified were one and the same, and that the 
regenerate, as such, had the gift of perseverance, remained with 
me not many years, as I have said already. 

The main Catholic doctrine of the warfare between the city of 
God and the powers of darkness was also deeply impressed upon 
my mind by a work of a character very opposite to Calvinism, 
Law's 14 Serious Call. n 

From this time I have held with a full assent and belief the doc- 
trine of eternal punishment, as delivered by our Lord himself, in 
as true a sense as I hold that of eternal happiness, though I have 
tried in various ways to make that truth less terrible to the 
intellect. 

Now I come to two other works which produced a deep impres- 
sion on me in the same autumn of 1816, when I was fifteen years 
old. each contrary to each, and planting in me the seeds of an in- 
tellectual inconsistency which disabled me for a long course ot 
years. I read Joseph Milner's Church History, and was nothing 
short of enamored with the long extracts from St. Augustine, St. 
Ambrose, and the other Fathers which I found there. I read them 
as being the religion of the Primitive Christians, but simulta- 
neously with Milner I read Newton on the Prophecies, and. in 
consequence, became most firmly convinced that the Pope was the 
Anti-Christ predicted by Daniel, St. Paul, and St. John. My 



Early Religious Impressions. 17 



imagination was stained by the effects of this doctrine up to the 
year 1843 5 na cl been obliterated from my reason and judgment at 
an earlier date. . . - 

In 1822 I came under very different influences from those to 
which I had hitherto been subjected. At that time, Mr. Whately, 
as he was then, afterwards Archbishop of Dublin, for the few 
months he remained in Oxford, which he was leaving for good, 
showed great kindness to me. He renewed it in 1S25, when he 
became Principal of Alban Hall, making me his Vice-Principal 
and Tutor. Of Dr. Whately I will speak presently ; for from 1822 
to 1825 I saw most of the present Provost of Oriel, Dr. Hawkins, 
at that time Vicar of St. Mary's ; and, when I took orders in 1824, 
and had a curacy in Oxford, then, during the long vacations, I 
was especially thrown into his company. . . . He was the 
first who taught me to weigh my words, and to be cautious in my 
statements. He led me to that mode of limiting and clearing my 
sense in discussion and in controversy, and of distinguishing be- 
tween cognate ideas, and of obviating mistakes by anticipation, 
which to my surprise has been since considered, even in quarters 
friendly to me, to savor of the polemics of Rome. He is a man 
of most exact mind himself, and he used to snub me severely on 
reading, as he was 'kind enough to do, the first Sermons that I 
wrote, and other compositions which I was engaged upon. Then 
as to doctrine, he was the means of great additions to my belief. 
As I have noticed elsewhere, he gave me the " Treatise on Apos- 
tolical Preaching, " by Sumner, afterwards Archbishop of Canter- 
bury, from which I was led to give up my remaining Calvinism, 
and to receive the doctrine of Baptismal Regeneration. In many 
other ways, too, he was of use to me on subjects semi-religious 
and semi-scholastic. . . . One principle which I gained from 
him more directly bearing upon Catholicism, than any I have 
mentioned, is the doctrine of Tradition. . . 

It was about the year 1823, I suppose, that I read Bishop But- 
ler's "Analogy," the study of which has been to so many, as it 
was to me, an era in their religious opinions. Its inculcation of a 
visible Church, the oracle of truth and a pattern of sanctity, of the 
duties of external religion, and of the historical character of Re- 
velation, are characteristics of this great work which strike the 
reader at once ; for myself, if I ma} r attempt to determine what I 
most gained from it, it lay in two points, which are the underlying 



Personal. 



principles of a great portion of my teaching. First, the very idea 
of an analogy between the separate works of God leads to the 
conclusion that the system which is of less importance is econo- 
mically or sacramentally connected with the more momentous 
system, and of this conclusion the theory, to which I was inclined 
as a boy, viz., the unreality of material phenomena, is an ultimate 
resolution. At this time I did not make the distinction between 
matter itself and its phenomena, which is so necessary and so ob- 
Hcus in discussing the subject. Secondly, Butler's doctrine that 
Probability is the guide of life, led me, at least, under the teach 
ing to which a few years later I was introduced, to the question 
G f the logical cogency of faith, on which I have written so much. 
Thus to Butler I trace those two principles of my teaching which 
have led to a charge against me both of fancifulness and of scep- 
ticism. 

And now as to Dr. Whately. I owe him a great deal. . . . 
He, emphatically, opened my mind, and taught me to think and 
to use nrr reason. After being first noticed by him in 1822 I 
became very intimate with him in 1825, when I was his Vice-Prin- 
cipal at Alban Hall. I gave up that office in 1826, when I became 
Tutor of my College, and his hold upon me gradually relaxed. He 
had done his work towards me, or nearly so, when he had taught 
me to see with my own eyes and to walk with my own feet. His 
mind was too different from mine for us to remain long on one 
line. When I was diverging from him in opinion (which he did 
not like), I thought of dedicating my first book to him, in words 
to the effect that he had not only taught me to think, but to think 
for myself. . . . What he did for me in point of religious 
opinion, was, first, to teach me the existence of the Church, as a 
substantive body or corporation ; next, to fix in me those anti- 
Erastian views of church polity, which were one of the most 
prominent features of the Tractarian movement. ... I am 
not aware of any other religious opinion which I owe to Dr. 
Whately. In his special theological tenets I had no sympathy. 
In the year 1S27 he told me he considered I was Arianizing. 
The case was this : though at that time I had not read Bishop 
Bull's " Defensio," nor the Fathers, I was just then very strong 
for that ante-Nicene view of the Trinitarian doctrine, which some 
writers, both Catholic and non-Catholic, have accused of wearing 
a sort of Arian exterior. This is the meaning of a passage in 



First Years of Residence ai Oriel. 



*9 



Froude's Remains, in which he seems to accuse me of speaking 
against the Athanasian Creed. I had contrasted the two aspects 
of the Trinitarian doctrine, which are respectively presented by 
the Athanasian Creed and the Nicene. My criticisms were to the 
effect that some of the verses of the former Creed were unneces- 
sarily scientific. This is a specimen of a certain disdain for antU 
qui'.)' which had been growing on me now for several years. . . . 
The truth is, I was beginning to prefer intellectual excellence to 
moral. I was. drifting in the direction of the Liberalism* of the 
day. I was rudely awakened from my dream at the end of 1827 
by two great blows — illness and bereavement. (" Apologia/' pp. 
4-14.) 



II. 

FIRST YEARS OF RESIDENCE AT ORIEL. 

During the first years of my residence at Oriel, though proud 
of my college, I was not quite at home there. I was very much 
alone, and I used often to take my daily walk by myself. I 
recollect once meeting Dr. Copleston, then Provost, with one 
of the Fellows. He turned round, and with the kind courteous- 
ness which sat so well on him, made me a bow and said, Nun- 
quam minus solus, qua??i cum solus. At that time, indeed — (from 
1823) — I had the intimacy of my dear and true friend Dr. Pusey, 
and could not fail to admire and revere a soul so devoted to the 
cause of religion, so full of good works, so faithful in his affec- 

t [Dr. Newman, in a note on this passage, explains that by Liberalism he 
mefis " false liberty of thought, or the exercise of thought upon matters in which, 
from the constitution of the human mind, thought cannot be brought to any 
successful issue, and, therefore, is out of place. Among such matters, 11 he con- 
tinues, " are first principles of whatever kind ; and of these the most sacred and 
momentous are especially to be reckoned, the truths of Revelation." He observes 
that this explanation is " the more necessary, because such great Catholics and 
distinguished writers as Count Montalembert and Father Lacordaire use the word 
in a favorable sense, and claim to be Liberals themselves,'" and adds, " 1 do not 
believe that it is possible for me to differ in any important matter from two men 
whom I so highly admire. In their general line of thought and conduct I 
enthusiastically concur. . . . If I hesitate to adopt their language about 
Liberalism, I impute the necessity of such hesitation to some difference between 
us in the use of words or in the circumstances of country." — Ibid. pp. 288 and 285.] 



20 



Personal. 



*ions ; but he left residence when I was getting to know him well 
As to Dr. Whately himself, he was too much my superior to 
allow of my being at my ease with him ; and to no one in Oxford 
at this time did I open my heart fully and familiarly. But things 
changed in 1826. At that time I became one of the Tutors of my 
College, and this gave me position ; besides, I had written one 
or two Essays which had been well received. I began to be 
known. I preached my first University Sermon. Next year I 
was one of the Public Examiners for the B.A. degree. In 1828 I 
became Vicar of St. Mary's. It was to me like the feeling of 
spring w r eather after winter ; and, if I may so speak, I came out of 
my shell. I remained out of it until 1841. 

The two persons who knew me best at that time are still alive 
beneficed clergymen, no longer my friends. They could tell bet- 
ter than anyone else what I was in those days. From this time 
my tongue was, as it were, loosened, and I spoke spontaneously 
and without effort. One of the two, a shrewd man, said of me, 
I have been told, " Here is a Fellow who, when he is silent, will 
never begin to speak, and when he once begins to speak will 
never stop." It was at this time that I began to have influence, 
which steadily increased for a course of years. I gained upon 
my pupils, and was in particular intimate and affectionate with 
two of our Probationer Fellows, Robert Isaac Wilberforce (after- 
wards Archdeacon), and Richard Hurrell Froude. Whately then, 
an acute man, perhaps saw around me the signs of an incipient 
party of which I was not conscious myself. And thus we discern 
the first elements of that movement afterwards called Tractariau, 
The true and primary author of it, however, as is usual with great 
motive powers, was out of sight. Having carried off, as a mere 
boy, the highest honors of the University, he had turned from the 
admiration which haunted his steps, and sought for a better and 
holier satisfaction in pastoral work in the country. Need I say 
that I am speaking of John Keble ? The first time that I was in 
a room with him was on the occasion of my election to a Fellow- 
ship at Oriel, when I was sent for into the Tower, to shake hands 
with the Provost and Fellows. How is that hour fixed in my 
memory after the changes of forty-two years ; forty-two this very 
day on which I write ! I have lately had a letter in my hands which 
I sent at the time to my great friend, John William Bowden, with 
whom I passed almost exclusively my Undergraduate years M 



Mr. Keble s Teaching. 



21 



had to hasten to the Tower," I say to him, "to receive the con- 
gratulations of all the Fellows. I bore it till Keble took my 
hand, and then felt so abashed and unworthy of the honor done to 
me, that I seemed desirous of quite sinking into the ground." 
His had been the first name which I had heard spoken of, with 
reverence rather than admiration, when I came up to Oxford. 
When one day I was walking in High Street with my dear earliest 
friend just mentioned, with what eagerness did he cry out, 
u There's Keble ! " and with what awe did I look at him ! Then 
at another time I heard a Master of Arts of my college give an ac- 
count how he had just then had occasion to introduce himself on 
some business to Keble, and how gentle, courteous, and unaffect- 
ed Keble had been, so as almost to put him out of countenance. 
Then, too, it was reported, truly or falsely, how a rising man of 
brilliant reputation, the present Dean of St. Paul's, Dr. Milman, 
admired and loved him, adding, that somehow he was strangely 
unlike any one else. However, at the time when I was elected 
Fellow of Oriel, he was not in residence, and he was shy of me for 
years, in consequence of the marks which I bore upon me of the 
Evangelical and Liberal schools, at least so I have ever thought. 
Hurreli Froude brought us together about 1828 : it is one of the 
sayings preserved in his " Remains" — " Do you know the story 
of the murderer who had done one good thing in his life ? Well, 
if I was ever asked what good thing I had ever done, I should say 
I had brought Keble and Newman to understand each other. " 
(" Apologia," pp. 15-18.) 



III. 

MR. KEBLE'S TEACHING. 

44 The Christian Year" made its appearance in 1827. It is not 
necessary, and scarcely becoming, to praise a book which has al- 
ready become one of the classics of the language. When the 
general tone of religious iterature was so nerveless and impotent, 
as it was at that time, Keble struck an original note, and woke 
up in the hearts of thousands a new music, the music of a school 
long unknown in England. Nor can I pretend to analyze, in my 
own instance, the effects of' religious teaching so deep, so pure, 
»o beautiful. I have never till now tried to do so, yet I think I 



22 



Personal. 



am not wrong in saying, that the two main intellectual truths it 
brought home to me, were the same two which I had learned from 
Butler, though recast in the creative mind of my new master. 
The first of these was what may be called, in a large sense of the 
word, the sacramental system ; that is, the doctrine that material 
phenomena are both the types and the instruments of real things 
unseen, — a doctrine, which embraces in its fulness, not only what 
Anglicans as well as Catholics believe about the sacraments, pro- 
nerly so called, but also the article of the " Communion of Saints," 
jmd likewise the Mysteries of the Faith. The connection of this 
philosophy of religion with what is sometimes called " Berkeley- 
ism " has been mentioned above. I knew little of Berkeley at this 
time, except by name ; nor have I ever studied him. 

On the second intellectual principle which I gained from Mr. 
Keble, I could say a great deal, if this were the place for it. It 
runs through very much that I have written, and has gained for me 
many hard names. Butler teaches us that probability is the guide 
of life. The danger of this doctrine, in the case of many minds, 
is, its tendency to destroy in them absolute certainty, leading 
them to consider every conclusion as doubtful, and resolving 
truth into an opinion, which it is safe, indeed, to obey or to pro 
fess, but not possible to embrace with true internal assent. If 
this were to be allowed, then the celebrated saying, u O God, ii 
there be a God, save my soul, if I have a soul," would be the 
highest measure of devotion ; but who can really pray to a Being, 
about whose existence he is seriously in doubt ? 

I considered that Mr. Keble met this difficulty by ascribing the 
firmness of assent which we give to religious doctrine, not to the 
probabilities which introduced it, but to the living power of faith 
and love which accepted it. In matters of religion, he seemed to 
say, it is not merely probability which makes us intellectually 
certain, but probability as it is put to account by faith and love. 
It is faith and love which give to probability a force which it 
lias not in itself. Faith and love are directed towards an Object , 
in the vision of that Object they live ; it is that Object, received in 
faith and love, which renders it reasonable to take probability as 
sufficient for internal conviction. Then the argument from Pro- 
bability, in the matter of religion, becomes an argument from 
Personality, which, in fact, is one fo'rm of the argument from 
Authority 



Mr. Keble's Teaching. 



23 



In illustration, Mr. Keble used to quote the words of the 
Psalm : " I will guide thee with mine eye. Be ye not like to 
horse and mule, which have no understanding ; whose mouths 
must be held with bit and bridle, lest they fall upon thee." This 
is the very difference, he used to say, between slaves and friends 
or children. Friends do not ask for literal commands, but, from 
their knowledge of the speaker, they understand his half- words, and 
from love of him they anticipate his wishes. Hence it is, that in his 
poem for St. Bartholomew's Day, he speaks of the " Eye of God's 
Word " ; and in the note quotes Mr. Miller, of Worcester College, 
who remarks, in his Bampton Lectures, on the special power of 
Scripture, as having " this Eye, like that of a portrait, uniformly 
fixed upon us turn where we will." The view thus suggested by 
Mr. Keble, is brought forward in one of the earliest of the 
" Tracts for the Times." In No. 8 I say : " The Gospel is a Law 
of Liberty. We are treated as sons, not as servants ; not sub. 
jected to a code of formal commandments, but addressed as 
those who love God, and wish to please Him." 

I did not at all dispute this view of the matter, for I made use 
of it myself; but I was dissatisfied, because it did not go to the 
root of the difficulty. It was beautiful and religious, but it did 
not even profess to be logical, and accordingly I tried to complete 
it by considerations of my own, which are to be found in my Uni. 
versity Sermons, Essay on Ecclesiastical Miracles, and Essay on 
Development of Doctrine. My* argument is, in outline, as fol- 
lows : that that absolute certitude which we were able to possess, 
whether as to the truths of natural theology, or as to the fact of a 
revelation, was the result of an assemblage of concurring and 
converging probabilities, and that, both according to the constitu- 
tion of the human mind and the will of its Maker ; that certitude 
was a habit of mind ; that certainty was a quality of propositions? ; 
that probabilities which did not reach to logical certainty might 
suffice for a mental certitude ; that the certitude thus brought 
about might equal in measure and strength the certitude which 
was created by the strictest scientific demonstration ; and that 
to possess such certitude might in given cases, and to given 
individuals, be a plain duty, though not to others, in other cir- 
cumstances : — 

. *[This argument is worked out in the Grammar of Assent .*] 



24 



Personal. 



Moreover, that as there were probabilities which sufficed for 

certitude, so there were other probabilities which were legiti- 
mately adapted to create opinion ; that it might be quite as much a 
matter of duty in given cases, and to given persons, to have about 
a fact an opinion of a definite strength and consistency, as in the 
case of greater or of more numerous probabilities it was a duty to 
have a certitude ; that accordingly we were bound to be more or 
less sure, on a sort of (as it were) graduated scale of assent, viz. 
according as the probabilities attaching to a professed fact were 
brought home to us, and as the case might be, to entertain it 
about a pious belief, or a pious opinion, or a religious conjec- 
ture, or, at least, a tolerance of such belief,or opinion, or conjecture 
in others ; that, on the other hand, as it was a duty to have a belief 
of more or less strong texture, in given cases, so, in other cases, 
it was a duty not to believe, not to opine, not to conjecture, not 
even to tolerate the notion that a professed fact was true, inas- 
much as it would be credulity, or superstition, or some other 
moral fault to do so. This was the region of Private Judgment 
in religion ; that is, of a Private Judgment, not formed arbitrarily 
and according to one's fancy or liking, but conscientiously, and 
under a sense of duty. (" Apologia," pp. 18-21.) 



IV. 

HURRELL FROUDE. 

Hurrell Froude was a pupil of Keble, formed by him and in 
turn reacting upon him. I knew him first in 1826, and was in the 
closest and most affectionate friendship with him from about 1829 
till his death in 1836. He was a man of the highest gifts, — so 
truly many-sided that it would be presumptuous for me to de- 
scribe him, except under those aspects in which he came before 
me. Nor have I here to speak of the gentleness and tenderness 
of nature, the playfulness, the free elastic force and graceful ver- 
satility of mind, and the patient winning considerateness in dis* 
cussion which endeared him to those to whom he opened his 
heart, for I am all along engaged upon matters of belief and opin- 
ion, and am introducing others into my narrative, not for their 
own sake, or because I love and have loved them, so much ?s 



Hurrell Fronde. 



because, and so far as, they have influenced my theologica. views. 
In this respect, then, I speak of Hurrell Froude, — in his intellec 
tual aspect — as a man of high genius, brimful, and overflowing 
with ideas and views, in him original, which were too many and 
strong even for his bodily strength, and which crowded and jos- 
tled against each other in their effort after distinct shape and 
expression. And he had an intellect as critical and logical as 
it was speculative and bold. Dying prematurely, as he did, 
and* in the conflict and transition-state of opinion, his religious 
views never reached their ultimate conclusion, by the very reason 
of their multitude and their depth. His opinions arrested and 
influenced me, even when they did not gain my assent. He pro* 
fessed openly his admiration of the Church of Rome, and his 
hatred of the Reformers. He delighted in the notion of an hier- 
archical system, of sacerdotal power, and of full ecclesiastical 
liberty. He felt scorn of the maxim, 11 The Bible and the Bible 
only is the religion of Protestants ; " and he gloried in accepting 
Tradition as a main instrument of religious teaching. He had a 
high, severe idea of the intrinsic excellence of Virginity ; and he 
considered the Blessed Virgin its great pattern. He delighted in 
thinking of the Saints ; he had a vivid appreciation of the idea of 
sanctity, its possibility and its heights ; and he was more than 
inclined to believe a large amount of miraculous interference 
as occurring in the early and middle ages. He embraced the 
principle of penance and mortification. He had a deep devotion 
to the Real Presence, in which he had a firm faith. He was pow- 
erfully drawn to the Mediaeval Church, but not to the Primitive. 

He had a keen insight into abstract truth ; but he was an En- 
glishman to the back-bone in his severe adherence to the real and 
the concrete. He had a most classical taste, and a genius for phi- 
losophy and art, and he was fond of historical enquiry, and the pon- 
tics of religion. He had no turn for theology as such. He sv I 
no sufficient value on the writings of the Fathers, on the detail c** 
development of doctrine, on the definite traditions of the Church 
viewed in their matter, on the teaching of the Ecumenical Coun- 
cils, or on the controversies out of which they arose. He took an 
eager courageous view of things on the whole. I should say 
tnat his power of entering into the minds of others did not equal 
his other gifts ; he could not believe, for instance, that I really 
held the Roman Church to be anti Christian. On many points 



26 



Personal. 



he would not believe but that I agreed with him, when I did not. 
He seemed not to understand my difficulties. His were of a 
different kind, the contrariety between theory and fact. He was 
a high Tory of the Cavalier stamp, and was disgusted with the 
Torvism of the opponents of the Reform Bill. He was smitten 
with the love of the Theocratic Church ; he went abroad, and was 
shocked by the degeneracy which he thought he saw in the Cath- 
olics of Italy. 

It is difficult to enumerate the precise additions to my theolo- 
gical creed which I derived from a friend to whom I owe so much. 
He taught me to look with admiration towards the Church of 
Rome, and in the same degree to dislike the Reformation. 
He fixed deep in me the idea of devotion to the Blessed Virgin, 
and he led me gradually to believe in the Real Presence. 
("Apologia," pp. 23-25.) 



V. 

THE TEACHING OF ANTIQUITY. 

There is one remaining source of my opinions to be mentioned, 
and that far from the least important. In proportion as I moved 
out of the shadow of that Liberalism which had hung over my 
course, my early devotion towards the Fathers returned, and in 
the long vacation of 1828 I set about to read them chronologically 
beginning with St. Ignatius and St. Justin. About 1S30 a pro- 
posal was made to me to furnish a History of the Principal Coun- 
cils. I accepted it, and at once set to work on the Council ot 
Nicaea. It was to launch myself on an ocean with currents innume- 
rable, and I was drifted back first to the ante-Nicene history, and 
then to the Church of Alexandria. The work at last appeared 
under the title of " The Arians of the Fourth Century," and of its 
422 pages the first 117 consisted of introductory matter, and the 
Council of Nicaea did not appear till the 254th, and then occupied 
at most twenty pages. 

I do not know when I first learnt to consider that Antiquity was 
the true exponent of the doctrines of Christianity and ihe basis ot 
the Church of England , but I take it for granted that the works of 
Bishop Bull, which at this time I read, were my first introduction 



The Teaching of Antiquity. 



27 



to this principle. The course of reading which* I pursued in the 
composition of my volume was directly adapted to develop it .11 my 
mind. What principally attracted me in the ante-Nicene period 
was the great Church of Alexandria, the historical centre of teach- 
ing in those times. Of Rome for some centuries comparatively 
little is known. The battle of Arianism was first fought in Alexan- 
dria. Athanasius, the champion of the truth, was Bishop of Alex- 
andria ; and in his writings he refers to the great religious names of 
an earlier date, io Origen, Dionysius, and others, who were the glory 
of its see, or of its school. The broad philosophy of Clement anc* 
Origen carried me away ; the philosophy, not the theological doc- 
trine ; and I have drawn out some portions of it in my volume, 
with the zeal and freshness, but with the partiality, of a Neo- 
phyte. Some portions of their teaching, magnificent in them- 
selves, came like music on my inward ear, as if the response to 
ideas, which, with little external to encourage them, I had cher- 
ished so long. They were based on the mystical or sacramental 
principle, and spoke of the various Economies or Dispensations 
of the Eternal. I understood these passages to mean that the 
exterior world, physical and historical, was but the manifestation 
to our senses of realities greater than itself. Nature was a para- 
ble ; Scripture was an allegory ; pagan literature, philosophy, and 
mythology, properly understood, were but a preparation for the 
Gospel. The Greek poets and sages were in a certain sense 
prophets, for "thoughts beyond their thought to those high bards 
were given. 1 ' There had been a directly divine dispensation 
granted to the Jews ; but there had been, in some sense, a dis- 
pensation carried on in favor of the Gentiles. He who had taken 
the seed of Jacob for His elect people, had not therefore cast the 
rest of mankind out of His sight. In the fulness of time, both 
Judaism and Paganism had come to naught ; the outward frame- 
work which concealed yet suggested the Living Truth, had never 
been intended to last, and it was dissolving under the beams of 
the Sun of Justice which shone behind it and through it. The 
process of change had been slow ; it had been done, not rashly, 
but by rule and measure, " at sundry times and in divers man- 
ners," first one disclosure and then another, till the whole evan- 
gelical doctrine was brought into full manifestation. And thus 
room was made for the anticipation of further and deeper disclo- 
sures, of truths still under the veil of the letter, and in their 



28 



Personal, 



season to be revealed. The visible world still remains without 
its divine interpretation ; Holy Church, in her sacraments and hei 
hierarchical appointments, will remain, even unto the end ol the 
world, after all but a symbol of those heavenly facts which fill 
eternity. Her mysteries are but the expressions in human lan- 
guage of truths to which the human mind is unequal. It is 
evident how much there was in all this in correspondence with 
the thoughts which had attracted me when I was young, and 
with the doctrine which I have already associated with the 
"Analogy" and the " ChristianYear." 

It was, I suppose, to the Alexandrian school and to the early 
Church that I owe in particular what I definitely held about the 
Angels. I viewed them, not only as the ministers employed by 
the Creator in the Jewish and Christian dispensations, as we 
find on the face of Scripture, but as carrying on, as Scripture also 
implies, the Economy of the Visible World. I considered them as 
the real causes of motion, life, and light, and of those elementary 
principles of the physical universe, which, when offered in theii 
developments to our senses, suggest to us the notion of cause and 
effect, and of what are called the laws of nature. This doctrine 
I have drawn out in my Sermon for Michaelmas Day, written in 
1831. * I say of the Angels, "Every breath of air, and ray of 
light and heat, every beautiful prospect, is, as it were, the skirts 
of their garments, the waving of the robes of those whose faces 
e >e God." . . . 

\Vhile I was engaged in writing my work upon the Arians, 
gre* events were happening at home and abroad, which brought 
out form and passionate expression the various beliefs which 
had so gradually been winning their way into my mind. Shortly 
before, there had been a Revolution in France. . . . The 
great Reform agitation was going on around me as I wrote. . . . 
Lord Grey had told the Bishops to set their house in order, and 
some of the Prelates had been insulted and threatened in fhe 
streets of London. The vital question was, how were we to kt ep 
the Church from being liberalized ? There was such apathy on 
the subject in some quarters, such imbecile alarm in others ; the 
true principles of Churchmanship seemed so radically decayed, 
and there was such distrac \on in the counsels of the Clergy. 



* [Parochial and Plaii Sermons, Vol. iL p. 36*.]; 



The Teaching of Antiquity. 59 

BIdmfield, the Bishop of London of the day,, an active and open- 
hearted man, had been for years engaged in diluting the high 
orthodoxy of the Church by the introduction of members of the 
Evangelical body into places of influence and trust. He had 
deeply offended men who agreed in opinion with myself, by an 
off-hand saying (as it was reported) to the effect that belief in the 
Apostolical succession had gone out with the Non-jurors. u We 
can count you " he said to some of the gravest and most venerated 
persons of the old school. And the Evangelical party itself, with 
their late successes, seemed to have lost that simplicity and un- 
worldliness which I admired so much in Milner and Scott. It 
was not that I did not venerate such men as Ryder, the then 
Bishop of Lichfield, and others of similar sentiments, who were 
not yet promoted out of the ranks of the Clergy, but I thought 
little of the Evangelicals as a class. I thought they played into 
the hands of the Liberals. With the Establishment thus divided 
and threatened, thus ignorant of its true strength, I compared that 
fresh, vigorous power of which I was reading in the first centu- 
ries. In her triumphant zeal on behalf of that Primeval Mystery, 
to which I had so great a devotion from my youth, I recognized 
the movement of my Spiritual Mother. " Incessu patuit dea." 
The self-conquest of her Ascetics, the patience of her Martyrs, the 
irresistible determination of her Bishops, the joyous swing of her 
advance, both exalted and abashed me. I said to myself, "Look 
on this picture and on that." I felt affection for my own Church, 
but not tenderness ; I felt dismay at her prospects, anger and 
scorn at her do-nothing perplexity. I thought that if Liberalism 
once got a footing within her, it was sure of the victory in the 
event. I saw that Reformation principles were powerless to res- 
cue her. As to leaving her, the thought never crossed my imagi- 
nation ; still I ever kept before me that there was something 
greater than the Established Church, and that that was the Church 
Catholic and Apostolic, set up from the beginning, of which she 
was but the local presence and the organ. She was nothing, 
unless she was this. She must be dealt with strongly or she 
would be lost. There was need of a second Reformation* 
("Apologia," pp. 25-32.) 



Personal, 



VI. 

TRAVELS IA THE SOUTH OF EUROPE. 

[My " History of the Arians "] was ready for the press in July, 
1S32, though not published till the end of 1833. My health had 
suffered from the labor involved in the composition of [the] 
volume, [and] I was easily persuaded to join Hurrell Froude 
and his father, who were going to the south of Europe for the 
health of the former. 

We set out in December, 1S32. It was during this expedition 
that my Verses which are in the 11 Lyra Apostolica " were written ; 
a few, indeed, before it, but not more than one or two of them 
after it. Exchanging, as I was, definite Tutorial work, and the 
literary quiet and pleasant friendships of the last six years, for 
foreign countries and an unknown future, I«naturally was led to 
think that some inward changes, as well as some larger course of 
action, were coming upon me. At Whitchurch, while waiting 
for the down mail to Falmouth, I wrote the verses about my 
Guardian Angel, * which began with these words, "Are these the 
tracks of some unearthly Friend?" and which go onto speak of 
M the vision" which haunted me: — that vision is more or less 
brought out in the whole series of these compositions. 

I went to various coasts of the Mediterranean ; parted with my 
friends in Rome ; went down for the second time to Sicily with- 
out companion at the end of April, and got back to England by 
Palermo in the early part of July. The strangeness of foreign 
life threw me back into myself; I found pleasure in historical 
sights and beautiful scenes, not in men and manners. We kept 
clear of Catholics throughout our tour. I had a conversation 
with the Dean of Malta, a most pleasant man, lately dead ; but 
it was about the Fathers, and the Library of the great church. I 
knew the Abbate Santini at Rome, who did no more than copj 
for me the Gregorian tones. Froude and I made two calls upou 
Monsignore (now Cardinal) Wiseman, at the Collegio Inglese, 
shortly before we left Rome. Once we heard him preach at a 
church in the Corso. I do not recollect being in a room with any 
other ecclesiastics, except a priest at Castro Giovanni, in Sicily, 



•[See M Verses on Various Occasions," p. 60.] 



Travels in the South of Europe. 



31 



who called on me when I was ill, and with whom I wished to 
hold a controversy. As to Church Services, we attended the 
Tenebrae, at the Sistine, for the sake of the Miserere, and that 
was all. My general feeling was, "All, save the spirit of man, 
is divine." I saw nothing but what was external ; of the hidden 
life of Catholics I knew nothing. I was still more driven back 
into myself, and felt my isolation. England was in my thoughts 
solely, and the news from England came rarely and imperfectly. 
The Bill for the Suppression of the Irish Sees was in progress, 
and filled my mind. I had fierce thoughts against the Liberals. 
The motto [prefixed to] the' 4 Lyra Apostolica," [which we] begar 
at Rome, shows the feeling of both Froude and myself at thi- 
time. We borrowed from M. Bunsen a Homer, and Froude 
chose the words in which Achilles, on returning to the battle, 
says, " You shall know the difference, now that I am bac^ 
again." 

Especially when I was left by myself, the thought came upon 
me that deliverance is wrought, not by the many, but by the few; 
not by bodies, but by persons. Now it was, I think, that I repeal 
ed to myself the words which had ever been dear to me from my 
school days, "Exoriare aliquis !" — now, too, that Souther's bea. • 
tiful poem of " Thalaba," for which I had an immense liking 
cam* forcibly to my mind. I began to think that I had a mission. 
The 1 * are sentences of my letters to my friends to this effect, it 
the are not destroyed. "When we took leave of Monsignoiv 
W' - ,eman he had courteously expressed a wish that we mig) 
nr ke a second visit to Rome. I said with great gravity, " Wo 
ha re a work to do in England." I went down at once to Sicily, 
an 1 the presentiments grew stronger. I struck into the middle 
of ^he island, and fell ill of a fever at Leonforte. My servant 
th' ught that I was dying, and begged for my last directions. I 
gs re th?m, as he wished ; but I said, u I shall not die." I ro 
petted, "I shall not die, for I have not sinned against light, i 
h" re not sinned against light." I never have been able to mail 
( rtt at all what I meant. 

I got to Castro Giovanni, and was laid up there for near. . 
tb ee weeks. Towards the end of May I left for Palermo, taking 
tl ree days for the journey. Before starting from my inn, in the 
morning of May 26th or 27th, I sat down on my bed, and be« 
gan to sob bitterly. My servant, who had acted as my nurse, asked 



32 



Personal 



me what ailed me. I could only answer him, " I have a work to 

do in England/' 

I was aching to get home ; yet, for want of a vessel, I mas kept 
at Palermo for three weeks. I began to visit the Churches, and 
they* calmed my patience, though I did not attend any services. 
I knew nothing of the Presence of the Blessed Sacrament there. 
At last I got off in an orange boat, bound for Marseilles. Then 
it was that I wrote the lines, "Lead, Kindly Light,'' which have 
since become well known. We were becalmed a whole week in 
the Straits of Bonifaccio. I was writing verses the whole time of 
my passage. At length I got to Marseilles, and set off for Eng- 
land. The fatigue of travelling was too much for me, and I was 
laid up for several days at Lyons. At last I got off again, and 
did not stop, night or day, (except a compulsory delay at Paris.) 
till I reached England and my mother's house. My brother had 
arrived from Persia only a few hours before. This was on the Tues- 
day. The following Sunday, July 14th, Mr. Keble preached the 
Assize Sermon in the University Pulpit. It was published under 
the title of "National Apostasy." 1 have ever considered and 
kept the day, as the start of the religious movement of 1S53 
("Apologia," pp. 32-35.) 

*[The subjoined verses, dated Palermo, June 13th, 1833, are interesting, not cnly 
as a record of this soothing influence, but also as affording, in the judgment of 
many, the first indication found in Dr. Newman's writings of what are called " ten- 
dencies to Rome.'' tendencies of which, it is needless to add, he was then wholly 
unconscious : — 

M Oh that thy creed were sound ! 

For thou dost soothe the heart, thou Church of Rome, 
By thy unwearied watch and varied round 

Of service in thy Saviour's holy home. 
I cannot walk the city's sultry streets, 
But the wide porch invites to still retreats, 
Where passion's thirst is calm'd, and care's unthankful ?loom. 

i4 There, on a foreign shore, 

The homesick solitary finds a friend ; 
Thoughts, prison'd long for lack of speech, outpour 

Their tears ; and doubts in resignation end. 
I almost fainted from the long delay 
That tangles me within this languid bay, 
When comes a foe, my wounds with oil and wine to tend." 

Verses on Various Occasions, p. 146.] 



The Tracts for the Times. 



33 



VII. 

THE TRACTS FOR THE TIMES. 

When I got back from abroad I found that already a movement 
had commenced in opposition to the specific danger which at 
that time was threatening the religion of the nation and its Church. 
Several zealous and able men had united their counsels, and were 
in correspondence with each other. The principal of them were 
Mr. Keble, Hurrell Froude, who had reached home long before 
me, Mr. William Palmer of Dublin and Worcester College (not 
Mr. William Palmer of Magdalen, who is now a Catholic), Mr. 
Arthur Perceval, and Mr. Hugh Rose. . . 

Out of my own head I began the Tracts [for the Times], . . 
I had the consciousness that I was employed in that work which 
I had been dreaming about, and which I felt to be so momentous 
and inspiring. I had a supreme confidence in our cause ; we 
were upholding that Primitive Christianity which was delivered 
for all time by the early teachers of the Church, and which was 
registered and attested in the Anglican Formularies and by the 
Anglican divines. That ancient religion had well-nigh faded out 
of the land, through the political changes of the last 150 years, 
and it must be restored. It would be in fact a second Reforma- 
tion ; — a better Reformation, for it would be a return not to the 
sixteenth century, but to the seventeenth. No time was to be 
lost, for the Whigs had come to do their worst, and the rescue 
might come too late. Bishoprics were already in course of sup- 
pression ; Church property was in course of confiscation ; Sees 
would soon be receiving unsuitable occupants. We knew enough 
to begin preaching upon, and there was no one else to preach. 
I felt as on board a vessel, which first gets under way, and then 
the deck is cleared out, and luggage and live stock stowed away 
into their proper receptacles. 

Nor was it only that I had confidence in our cause, both in it- 
self, and in its polemical force ; but also, on the other hand, \ 
despised every rival system of doctrine and its arguments too. 
As to the High Church and the Low Church, I thought that the 
one had no more a logical basis than the other ; while I had a 
thorough contempt for the controversial position of the latter. I 
had a real respect for the character of many of the advocates of 



14 



Personal. 



each part}', but that did not give cogency to their arguments ; and 
I thought, on the contrary, that the Apostolical form of doctrine 
was essential and imperative, and its grounds of evidence impreg- 
nable. . . And now let me state more definitely what the 
position was which I took up, and the propositions about which I 
was so confident. These were three. 

1. First was the principle of dogma : my battle was with Lib- 
eralism ; by Liberalism I meant the anti-dogmatic principle and 
its developments. This was the first point on which I was cer- 
tain. Here I make a remark : persistence in a given belief is no 
sufficient test of its truth, but departure from it is at least a slur 
upon the man who has felt so certain about it. In proportion, 
then, as I had in 1832 a strong persuasion of the truth of opinions 
which I have since given up, so far a sort of guilt attaches to me, 
not only for that vain confidence, but for all the various proceed- 
ings which were the consequence of it. But under the first head 
I have the satisfaction of feeling that I have nothing to retract, 
and nothing to repent of. The main principle of the movement 
is as dear to me now as it ever was. I have changed in many 
things, in this I have not. From the age of fifteen, dogma has 
been the fundamental principle of my religion. I know no other 
religion. I cannot enter into the idea of any other sort of reli- 
gion ; religion, as a mere sentiment, is to me a dream and a 
mockery. As well can there be filial love without the fact of a 
father, as devotion without the fact of a Supreme Being. What I 
held in 1816 I held in 1833, and I hold in 1864. Please God, I 
shall hold it to the end. Even when I was under Dr. Wha'tely's in- 
fluence I had no temptation to be less zealous for the great dog- 
mas of the faith, and at various times I used to resist such trains 
of thought on his part as seemed to me (rightly or wrongly) to 
obscure them. Such was the fundamental principle of the move- 
ment of 1833. 

2. Secondly, I was confident in the truth of a certain definite 
religious teaching, based upon this foundation of dogma, viz. 
that there was a visible Church, with sacraments and rites, which 
are the channels of invisible grace. I thought that this was the 
doctrine of Scripture, of the early Church, and of the Anglican 
Church. Here, again, I have not changed in opinion; I am as 
certain now on this point as I was in 1833, and have never ceased 
to be certain. In 1834 and the following years I put this ecclesi- 



The Tracts for the Times. 



35 



astical doctrine on a broader basis, after reading Laud, Bramhall, 
and Stillingfleet, and other Anglican divines, on the one hand, 
and after prosecuting the study of the Fathers on the other ; but 
the doctrine of 1833 was strengthened in me, not changed. When 
I began the " Tracts for the Times" I rested the main doctrine, of 
which I am speaking, upon Scripture, on the Anglican Prayer 
Book, and on St. Ignatius' Epistles. (1.) As to the existence of a 
visible Church, I especially argued out the point from Scripture 
in Tract II., viz. from the Acts of the Apostles and the Epistles. 
(2.) As to the Sacraments and Sacramental rites, I stood on the 
Prayer Book. . . (3.) And as to the Episcopal system, I 
founded it upon the Epistles of St. Ignatius. . . One pas- 
sage especially impressed itself upon me : speaking of cases of 
disobedience to ecclesiastical authority, he says, " A man does not 
deceive that Bishop whom he sees, but he practises rather with 
the Bishop Invisible, and so the question is not with flesh, but 
with God, who knows the secret heart." I wished to act on this 
principle to the letter, and I may say with confidence that I never 
consciously transgressed it. I loved to act as feeling myself in 
my Bishop's sight, as if it were the sight of God. It was one of 
my special supports and safeguards against myself; I could not 
go very wrong while I had reason to believe that I was in no re- 
spect displeasing him. It was not a mere formal obedience to 
rule that I put before me, but I desired to please him personally, 
as I considered him set over me by the Divine Hand. I was 
strict in observing my clerical engagements, not only because they 
were engagements, but because I considered myself simply as the 
servant and instrument of my Bishop. I did not care much for 
the Bench of Bishops, except as they might be the voice of my 
Church; nor should I have cared much for a Provincial Council, 
nor for a Diocesan Synod, presided over by my Bishop ; all these 
matters seemed to me to be jure ecclesiastico ; but what to me was 
jure divino, was the voice of my Bishop in his own person. My 
own Bishop was my Pope ; I knew no other ; the successor of the 
Apostles, the Vicar of Christ. This was but a practical exhi- 
bition of the Anglican theory of Church Government, as I had 
already drawn it out myself, after various Anglican Divines. 
This continued all through my course. When at length, in 1845, 
I wrote to Bishop Wiseman, in whose Vicariate I found myself, to 
announce my conversion, I could find nothing better to say to 



36 



Personal. 



him than that I would obey the Pope as I had obeyed my own 
Bishop in the Anglican Church. 

And now, in concluding my remarks on the second point on 
which my confidence rested, I repeat, that here again I have no 
retractation to announce as to its main outlines. While I am now 
as clear in my acceptance of the principle of dogma, as I was in 
1833 and 1816, so again I am now as firm in my belief of a visible 
Church, of the authority of Bishops, of the grace of the Sacra- 
ments, of the religious worth of works of penance, as I was in 
1833. I have added Articles to my Creed, but the old ones, 
which I then held with a Divine faith, remain. 

3. But now, as to the third point on which I stood in 1833, and 
which I have utterly renounced and trampled upon since, — my 
then view of the Church of Rome, — I will speak about it as exactly 
as I can. When I was young, as I have said already, and after I 
was grown up, I thought the Pope to be anti-Christ. At Christ- 
mas, 1824-5, I preached a sermon to that effect. But in 1827 I 
accepted eagerly the stanza in the " Christian Year, "which many 
thought too charitable, " Speak gently of thy sister's fall." From 
the time I knew Froude I got less and less bitter on the subject. 

. When it was that in my deliberate judgment I gave up the notion 
altogether in any shape, that some special reproach was attached 
to the name [of the Church of Rome], I cannot tell ; but I had a 
shrinking from renouncing it, even when my reason so ordered 
me, from a sort of conscience or prejudice, I think up to x-843. 
Moreover, at least during the Tract Movement, I thought the essence 
of her offence to consist in the honors which she paid to the Bless- 
ed Virgin and the Saints; and the more I grew in devotion, both 
to the Saints and to our Lady, the more impatient was I at the 
Roman practices, as if those glorified creations of God must be 
gravely shocked, if pain could be theirs, at the undue veneration 
of which they were the objects. 

On the other hand, Hurrell Froude, in his familiar conversations, 
was always tending to rub the idea out of my mind. In a passage 
of one of his letters from abroad, alluding, I suppose, to what I 
used to say in opposition to him, he observes: "I think people 
are injudicious who talk against the Roman Catholics for worship- 
ping saints, and honoring the Virgin and images, etc. These 
things may perhaps be idolatrous; I cannot make up my mind about 
it; but to my mind it is the Carnival that is real practical idolatry, as 



The Tracts for the Times. 



37 



it is written, ' the people sat down to eat and drink, and rose up 
to play.' " The Carnival, I observe in passing, is, in fact, one of 
those very excesses to which, for at least three centuries, religious 
Catholics have ever opposed themselves, as we see in the life of 
St. Philip, to say nothing of the present day ; but this we did not 
then know. Moreover, from Froude I learnt to admire the great 
Mediaeval Pontiffs. . . Then, when I was abroad, the sight of 
so many great places, venerable shrines, and noble churches, 
much impressed my imagination, and my heart was touched also 
Making an expedition on foot across some wild country in 
Sicily, at six in the morning I came upon a small church ; I heard 
voices, and I looked in. It was crowded, and the congregation was 
singing. Of course it was the Mass, though I did not know it at the 
time. And, inmywear}' days at Palermo, I was not ungrateful for 
the comfort which I had received in frequenting the churches; nor 
did I ever forget it. Then, again, her zealous maintenance of the 
doctrine and the rule of celibacy which I recognized as Apostolic, 
and her faithful agreement with Antiquity in so many other points 
which were dear to me, was an argument as well as a plea in favor 
of the great Church of Rome. Thus I learnt to have tender feelings 
towards her ; but still my reason was not affected at all. My judg- 
ment was against her, when viewed as an institution, as truly as 
it had ever been. . . 

As a matter, then, of simple conscience, though it went against 
my feelings, I felt it to be a duty to protest against the Church of 
Rome. And besides this, it was a duty, because the prescription 
of such a protest was a living principle of my own Church, as 
expressed not simply in a catena^ but by a consensus of her divines, 
and by the voice of her people. Moreover, such a protest was 
necessary as an integral portion of her controversial basis ; for 
I adopted the argument of Bernard Gilpin, that Protestants " were 
not able to give any firm and solid reason of the separation, besides 
this, to wit, that the Pope is anti-Christ." But while I thus thought 
such a protest to be based upon truth, and to be a religious duty 
and a rule of Anglicanism, and a necessity of the case, I did not 
at all like the work. (" Apologia," pp. 36-55.) 



38 



Personal. 



VIII. 
Dr. PUSEY. 

During the first year of the Tracts the attack [of the Liberals] 
upon the University began. In November, 1S34, was sent to me, 
by Dr. Hampden, the second edition of his Pamphlet, entitled. 
" Observations on Religious Dissent ; with particular reference to 
the use of Theological Tests in the University." In this pam- 
phlet it was maintained that Religion is distinct from Theological 
Opinion ; that it is but a common prejudice to identify theological 
propositions, methodically deduced and stated, with the simple 
religion of Christ, and that under Theological Opinion were to be 
placed the Trinitarian doctrine and the Unitarian ; that a dogma 
vvas a theological opinion formally insisted on ; that speculation 
always left an opening for improvement ; that the Church of Eng- 
land was not dogmatic in its spirit, though the wording of its 
formularies might often carry the sound of dogmatism. . . Since 
that time Phaeton has got into the chariot of the sun ; we, alas ! can 
only look on, and watch him down the steep of heaven. Mean- 
while, the lands which he is passing over, suffer from his driving. 

Such was the commencement of the assault of Liberalism upon 
the old orthodoxy of Oxford and England, and it could not have 
been broken, as it was, for so long a time, had not a great change 
taken place in the circumstances of that counter-movement which 
had already started with the view of resisting it. For myself, I 
was not the person to take the lead of a party ; I never was, from 
first to last, more than a leading author of a school ; nor did I ever 
wish to be anything else. . . I felt great impatience at our being 
called a party, and would not allow that we were such. I had a 
lounging, free-and-easy way of carrying things on. I exercised no 
sufficient censorship upon the Tracts. . . 

It was under these circumstances that Dr. Pusey joined us. I 
had known him well since 1S27-5. and had felt for him an enthu- 
siastic admiration. I used to call him 6 ueyaZ. His great learn, 
ing, his immense diligence, his scholar-like mind, his simple de- 
votion to the cause of religion, overcame me, and great of course 
was my joy, when, in the last days of 1S33. he showed a disposi. 
tion to make common cause with us. . . He at once gave to us 
a position and a name. Without him we should have had little 



The Via Media. 



39 



chance, especially at the early date of 1834, of making any serious 
resistance to the Liberal aggression. But Dr. Pusey was a Pro- 
fessor and Canon of Christ Church; he had avast influence in 
consequence of his deep religious seriousness, the munificence of 
his charities, his Professorship, his family connections, and his 
easy relations with the University authorities. . . He was, to use 
the common expression, a host in himself. He was able to give 
a name, a form, and a personality, to what was without him a sort 
of mob ; and when various parties had to meet together in order 
to resist the liberal acts of the Government, we of the Move- 
ment took our place by right among them. 

Such was the benefit which he conferred on the Movement ex- 
ternally, nor were the internal advantages at all inferior to it. 
He was a man of large designs. He had a hopeful, sanguine 
mind ; he had no fear of others; he was haunted by no intellectual 
perplexities. People are apt to say that he was once nearer to the 
Catholic Church than he is now. I pray God he may one day be 
far nearer to the Catholic Church than he was then, r or I believe 
that, in his reason and judgment, all the time that I knew him, he 
never was near to it at all. When I became a Catholi z I was often 
asked, "What of Dr. Pusey?" When I said that I did not see 
symptoms of his doing as I had done, I was sometimes thought 
uncharitable. If confidence in his position is (as it is) a first 
essential in the leader of a party, this Dr. Pusey possessed pre- 
eminently. The most remarkable instance of this, was his state- 
ment, in one of his subsequent defences of the Movement, when 
moreover it had advanced a considerable way in the direction of 
Rome, that among its more hopeful peculiarities was its " station- 
ariness." He made it in good faith ; it was his subjective view of 
it. ("Apologia," pp. 57-62.) 



IX. 

THE VIA MEDIA. 

I suspect it was Dr. Pusey's influence and example which set 
me, and made me set others, on the larger and more careful works 
in defence of the principles of the Movement which followed in h 



40 



Personal, 



course of years, — some of them demanding and receiving froa 
their authors such elaborate treatment that they did not make 
their appearance till both its temper and its fortunes had changed, 
I set about a work at once ; one in which was brought out with 
precision the relation in which we stood to the Church of Rome. 
We could not move a step in comfort till this was done. It was 
of absolute necessity and a plain duty from the first, to provide 
as soon as possible a large statement, which would encourage 
and reassure our friends, and repel the attacks of our opponents. 
A cry was heard on ail sides of us that the Tracts and the writ- 
ings of the Fathers would lead us to become Catholics, before we 
were aware of it. . . There was another reason still, and 
quite as important. Monsignore Wiseman, with the acuteness 
and zeal which might be expected from that great Prelate, had an- 
ticipated what was coming, had returned to England by 1 836. had 
delivered Lectures in London on the doctrines of Catholicism, 
and created an impression through the country, shared in by our- 
selves, that we had for our opponents in controversy, not only 
our brethren, but our hereditary foes. These were the circum- 
stances which led to my publication of " The Prophetical Office 
of the Church viewed relatively to Romanism and Popular Pro- 
testantism." This work employed me for three years, from the 
beginning of 1S34 to the end of 1836. It was composed after a 
careful consideration and comparison of the principal Anglican 
Divines of the 17th century. . . Its subject is the doctrine 
of the " Via Media," a name which had already been applied to 
the Anglican system by writers of name. It is an expressive title, 
but not altogether satisfactory, because it is at first sight negative. 
This had been the reason of my dislike to the word "Protestant" ; 
viz. it did not denote the profession of any particular religion at 
all. and was compatible with infidelity. A Via Media was but a 
receding from extremes. — therefore it needed to be drawn cut into 
a definite shape and character ; before it could have any definite 
claims on our respect, it must first be shown to be one, 
intelligible, and consistent. This was the first condition of any 
reasonable treatise on the Via Media. The secon d condition, and 
necessary too, was not in my power. . . Even if the Via 
Media v. ere ever so positive a religious system, it was not as yet 
objective and real ; it had no original anywhere of which it was 
the representative. It was at present a paper religion. This I 



Growth of the u An%!o-Catho!ic " Party. 



4* 



confess in my Introduction: I say, "Protestantism and Popery 
are real religions . . but the Via Media, viewed as an in- 
tegral system, has scarcely had existence except on paper." I 
grant the objection, though I endeavor to lessen it: — "It still re- 
mains to be tried, whether what is called Anglo-Cathclicism, the 
.religion of Andrewes, Laud, Hammond, Butler, and Wilson, is 
capable of being professed, acted on, and maintained on a large 
sphere of action, or whether it be a mere modification or transi- 
tion-state of either Romanism or popular Protestantism." I 
trusted that some day it would prove to be a substantive religion. 

Lest I should be misunderstood, let me observe that this hesi- 
tation about the validity of the theory of the Via Media im- 
plied no doubt of the three fundamental points on which it wasbas- 
ed, as I have described them above : dogma, the sacramental system, 
and anti-Romanism. (" Apologia," pp. 63-69,) 



X. 

GROWTH OF THE "ANGLO-CATHOLIC" PARTY. 

So I went on for vears up to 1841. It was, in a human point of 
view, the happiest of my life. I was truly at home. I had in one of 
my volumes appropriated to myself the words of Bramhall, " Bees, 
by the instinct of nature, do love their hives, and birds their nests." I 
did not suppose that such sunshine would last, though I knew not 
what would be its termination. It was the time of plenty, and, during 
its seven years, I tried to lay up as much as I could for the dearth 
which was to follow it. We prospered and spread. I have 
spoken of the doings of these years, since I was a Catholic, in a pas- 
sage, part of which I will here quote : 

M From beginnings so small," I said, M from elements of thought 
so fortuitous, with prospects so unpromising, the Anglo-Catholic 
party suddenly became a power in the National Church, and an 
object of alarm to her rulers and friends. Its originators would 
have found it difficult to say what they aimed at of a practical kind ; 
rather, they put forth views and principles for their own sake, 
because they were true, as if they were obliged to say them ; and, 
as they might be themselves surprised at their earnestness in ut 



42 



Personal. 



tering them, they had as great cause to be surprised at the success 

which attended their propagation. And, in fact, they could only 
say, that those doctrines were in the air; that to assert was to 
prove, and that to explain was to persuade ; and that the Move- 
ment in which they were taking part was the birth of a crisis 
rather than of a place. In a very few years, a school of opinion 
was formed, fixed in its principles, indefinite and progressive in 
their range, and it extended itself into even' part of the country. 
If we enquire what the world thought of it, we have still more to 
raise our wonder ; for, not to mention the excitement it caused in 
England, the Movement and its party-names were known to the 
police of Italy and to the back-woodsmen of America. And so it 
proceeded, getting stronger and stronger even- year, till it came 
into collision with the Nation, and that Church of the Nation, 
which it began by professing especially to serve." (" Apologia," 
PP. 75, 76.) 



XI. 

TRACT NINETY. 

From the time that I had entered upon the duties of Public Tu- 
tor at my College, when my doctrinal views were very different 
from what they were in 1841, I had meditated a comment upon the 
Articles. Then, when the Movement was in its swing, friends 
had said to me, u What will you make of the Articles ?" But 
I did not share the apprehension which their question implied. 
Whether, as time went on, I should have been forced, by the ne- 
cessities of the original theory of the Movement, to put on paper 
the speculations which I had about them, I am not able to conjec- 
ture. The actual cause of my doing so, in the beginning of 1S41, 
was the restlessness, actual and prospective, of those who neither 
liked the Via Media nor my strong judgment against Rome. I 
had been enjoined, I think by my Bishop, to keep these men 
straight, and I wished so to do ; but their tangible difficulty was 
subscription to the Articles, and thus the question of the Articles 
came before me. It was thrown in our teeth, " How can you 
manage to sign the Articles? they are directly against Rome.' 
u Against Rome?" I made answer, "what do you mean by * Rome?' " 



Tract Ninety. 



43 



And then I proceeded to make distinctions, of which I shall now 
give an account. 

By " Roman doctrine" might be meant one of three things : I. 
The Catholic teaching of the early centuries ; or 2, the formal dog- 
mas of Rome, as contained in the later Councils, especially the 
Council of Trent, and as condensed in the Creed of Pope Pius IV. 
3. The actual popular beliefs and usages sanctioned by Rome in the 
countries in communion with it, over and above the dogmas ; and 
these I called " dominant errors." Now Protestants commonly 
thought, that in all three senses " Roman doctrine " was condemn- 
ed in the Articles ; I thought that the Catholic teaching was not 
condemned, that the dominant errors were ; and as to the formal 
dogmas, that some were, some were not, and that the line had to be 
drawn between them. Thus: 1. The use of prayers for the dead 
was a Catholic doctrine, — not condemned in the Articles ; 2. The 
prison of Purgatory was a Roman dogma, which was condemned 
in them ; but the infallibility of Ecumenical Councils was a Ro- 
man dogma, — not condemned ; and 3. The fire of Purgatory, was 
an authorized and popular error, not a dogma, — which was con- 
demned. 

Further, I considered that the difficulties, felt by the persons 
whom I have mentioned, mainly lay in their mistaking, 1. Catho- 
lic teaching, which was not condemned in the Articles, for Roman 
dogma, which was condemned ; and 2. Roman dogma, which was 
not condemned in the Articles, for dominant error, which was. 
If they went further than this, I had nothing more to say to them. 

A further motive which I had for my attempt, was the desire 
to ascertain the ultimate points of contrariety between the Romarv 
and Anglican creeds, and to make them as few as possible. I 
thought that each creed was obscured and misrepresented by a 
dominant circumambient " Popery " and " Protestantism." 

The main thesis then of my Essay was this : — the Articles do not 
oppose Catholic teaching ; they but partially oppose Rom* n dog- 
ma ; they for the most part oppose the dominant errors of Rome. 
And the problem was, as I have said, to draw the line ay to what 
they allowed and what they condemned. . . 

In the sudden storm of indignation with which the Tract was re- 
ceived throughout the country on its appearance, I recognize much 
of real religious feeling, much of honest and true principle, much 
of straightforward, ignorant, common sense. In Oxford there was 



44 



Personal. 



genuine feeling too ; but there had been a smouldering, stern, ener« 

getic animosity, not at all unnatural, partly rational, against 
its author. A false step had been made ; now was the time for 
action. I am told that, even before the publication of the Tract, 
rumors of its contents had got into the hostile camp in an exag- 
gerated form, and not a moment was lost in proceeding to action, 
when I was actually fallen into the hands of the Philistines. I 
was quite unprepared for the outbreak, and was startled at its vio- 
lence. I do not think I had any fear. Nay, I will add, I am not 
sure that it was not, in one point of view, a relief to me. 

I saw indeed, clearly, that my place in the Movement was lost. 
Public confidence was at an end ; my occupation was gone. It 
was simply an impossibility that I could say anything henceforth 
to good effect, when I had been posted up by the marshal on the 
buttery-hatch of every College of my University, after the manner 
of discommoned pastrycooks ; and when, in every part of the coun- 
try and every class of society, through every organ and oppor- 
tunity of opinion, in newspapers, in periodicals, at meetings, in 
pulpits, at dinner-tables, in coffee-rooms, in railway carriages, I 
was denounced as a traitor who had laid his train, and was de- 
tected in the very act of. firing it against the time-honored Estab- 
lishment. There were indeed men, besides my own immediate 
friends, men of name and position, who gallantly took my part, as 
Dr. Hook, Mr. Palmer, and Mr. Perceval ; it must have been a 
grievous trial for themselves, yet what, after all. could they do for 
me? Confidence in me was lost ; but I haa already lost full con- 
fidence in myself. Thoughts had passed over me a year and a 
half before in respect to the Anglican claims, which for the time 
had profoundly troubled me. They had gone : I had not less con- 
fidence in the power of the Apostolical movement than before ; 
not less confidence than before in the grievousness of what I 
called the " dominant errors" of Rome ; but how was I any more 
to have absolute confidence in myself? How was I to have con- 
fidence in my present confidence? How was I to be sure that I 
should always think as I thought now? I felt that by this event a 
kind Providence had saved me from an impossible position in the 
future. 

First, if I remember right, they wished me to withdraw the 
Tract. This I refused to do ; I would not do so for the sake of 
those who were unsettled, or -in danger of unsettlement. I would 



" Securus Judicat Orbis Terrarum" 45 



not do so for my own sake, for how could I acquiesce in a mere 
Protestant interpretation of the Articles? How could I range 
myself among the professors of a theology, of which it put my 
teeth on edge even to hear the sound? 

Next they said, " Keep silence, do not defend the Tract." 1 
answered, " Yes, if you will not condemn it, — if you will allow it to 
continue on sale." They pressed me whenever I gave way ; they 
fell back when they saw me obstinate. Their iine of action was 
to get out of me as much as they could ; but upon the point of 
their tolerating the Tract I was obstinate. So they let me con- 
tinue it on sale, and they said they would not condemn it. But 
they said that this was on condition that I did not defend it, that I 
stopped the series, and that I myself published my own condem- 
nation in a letter to the Bishop of Oxford. I impute nothing 
whatever to him, he was ever most kind to me. Also they said 
they could not answer for what some individual Bishops might 
perhaps say about the Tract in their own charges. I agreed to their 
conditions. My one point was to save the Tract. 

Not a line in writing was given me as a pledge of the obser- 
vance of the main article on their side of the engagement. Parts 
of letters from them were read to me, without being put into my 
hands. It was an " understanding." A clever man had warned 
me against "understandings" some six years before: I have 
hated them ever since. (" Apologia," pp. 77-90.) 



XIL 

* SECURUS JUDICAT ORBIS TERRARUM." 

The Long Vacation of 1839 began early. There had been a 
great many visitors to Oxford from Easter to Commemoration, 
and Dr. Pusey's party had attracted attention, more, I think, than 
in any former year. I had put away from me the controversy 
with Rome for more than two years. In my Parochial Sermons 
the subject had at no time been introduced ; there had been 
nothing for two years, either in my Tracts or in the u British Cri- 
tic," of a polemical character. I was returning for the Vacation to 
the course of reading which I had many years before chosen as 



•6 



Personal. 



especially my own. I have no reason to suppose that the thoughts 
of Rome came across my mind at all. About the middle of June 
I began to study and master the history of the Monophysites. I 
was absorbed in the doctrinal question. This was from about 
J one 13th to August 30th. It was during this course of reading 
that for the first time a doubt came upon me of the tenableness of 
Anglicanism. I recollect on the 30th of July mentioning to a 
friend, whom I had accidentally met, how remarkable the history 
was ; but by the end of August I was seriously alarmed. 

I have described in a former work,* bow the history affected me, 
My stronghold was Antiquity ; now here, in the middle of the 
fifth century, I found, as it seemed to me, Christendom of the 
sixteenth and the nineteenth centuries reflected. I saw my face in 
that mirror, and I was a Monophysite. The Church of the Via 
Media was in the position of the Oriental Communion. Rome 
was. where she now is ; and the Protestants were the Z .::y:hians, 
Of all passages of history, since history has been, who would have 
thought of going to the sayings and doings of Eutyches, that de- 
lirus senex, as (I think) Petavius calls him, and to the enormities 
of the unprincipled Dioscorus, in order to be converted to Rome? 
Now let it be simply understood that I am not writing controver- 
sially, but with the one object of relating things as they happened 
to me in the course of my conversion. With this view I aril] 
quote a passage from the account, which I gave in 1850 \ of my 
reasonings and feelings in 1S39. 

44 It was difficult to make out how the Eutychians or Monophy- 
sites were heretic- unless Protestants and Anglicans were here* 
tics also : difficult to find arguments against the Tridentine Fa- 
thers, which did not tell against the Fathers of Chalcedon ; difficult 
to condemn the Popes of the sixteenth century, without condemn- 
ing the Popes of the fifth. The drama of religion, and the combat 
of truth and error, were ever one and the same. The principles 
and proceedings of the Church now. were those of the Church 
then ; the principles and proceedings of heretics then, were those 
of Protestants now. I found it so, — almost fearfully ; there was 
an awful similitude, more awful, because so silent and unimpas- 
sioned, between the dead records of the past, and the feverish 

* [Fcr sr. a::: the . :-.:~'-:-i : .:ti see " 2 5 32;/ :r. I>»veV-p:ne-!/' p. 2^3.] 

tfjfa Lectures oa. Aug. Dif , pp. 338.} 



" Securus Judicat Or bis Terr arum." 47 



chronicle of the present. The shadow of the fifth century was 
on the sixteenth. It was like a spirit rising from the troubled 
waters of the old world, with the shape and lineaments of the new. 
The Church then, as now, might be called peremptory and stern, 
resolute, overbearing, and relentless ; and heretics were shifting, 
changeable, reserved, and deceitful, ever courting civil power, 
and never agreeing together, except by its aid ; and the civil 
power was ever aiming at comprehensions, trying to put the in- 
visible out of view, and substituting expediency for faith. What 
was the use of continuing the controversy, or defending my posi- 
tion, if, after all, I was forging arguments for Arius or Eutyches, 
and turning devil's-advocate against the much-enduring Athana- 
sius and the majestic Leo? Be my soul with the Saints! and 
shall I lift up my hand against them? Sooner may my right hand 
forget her cunning and wither outright, as his who once stretched 
it out against a prophet of God ! anathema to a whole tribe of 
Cranmers, Ridieys, Latimers, and Jewels ; perish the names of 
Bramhall, Ussher, Taylor, Stillingfleet, and Barrow, from the face 
of the earth, ere I should do aught but fall at their feet in love and 
in worship, whose image was continually before my eyes, and 
whose musical words were ever in my ears and on my tongue. M 

Hardly had I brought my course of reading to a close, when the 
" Dublin Review" of that same August was put into my hands, 
by friends who were more favorable to the cause of Rome than I 
was myself. There was an article in it on "the Anglican Claim," 
by Dr. Wiseman. This was about the middle of September. It 
was on the Donatists, with an application to Anglicanism. I read 
it, and did not see much in it. The Donatist controversy was 
known to me for some years. . . The case was not parallel to 
ihat of the Anglican Church. St. Augustine in Africa wrote 
against the Donatists in Africa. They were a furious party who 
made a schism within the African Church, and not beyond its lim- 
its. It was a case of Altar against Altar, of two occupants of the 
same see, as that between the Non-jurors in England and the Es- 
tablished Church ; not the case of one Church against another, 
as of Rome against the Oriental Monophysites. But my friend, 
an anxiously religious man, now, as then, very dear to me, a Pro- 
testant still, pointed out the palmary words of St, Augustine, 
which were contained in one of the extracts made in the ' 1 Review," 
and *hich had escaped my observation, tl Sccurus judicat orbis 



4« 



Personal. 



terrarum." He repeated these words again and again, and, when 

he was gone, they kept ringing in my ears. n Securus judicat 
orbis terrarum ; " they were words which went beyond the occa- 
sion of the Donatists, they applied to that of the Monophysites 
They gave a cogency to the Article which had escaped me at first. 
They decided ecclesiastical questions on a simpler rule than that 
of Antiquity. Nay St. Augustine was one of the prime oracles of 
Antiquity; here then Antiquity was deciding against itself. What 
a light was hereby thrown upon every controversy in the Church ! 
not that, for the moment, the multitude may not falter in their 
judgment,— not that, in the Arian hurricane, Sees more than can 
be numbered did not bend before its fury, and fall off from St. 
Athanasius, — not that the crowd of Oriental Bishops did not need 
to be sustained during the contest by the voice and the eye of St. 
Leo ; but that the deliberate judgment, in which the whole Church 
at length rests and acquiesces, is an infallible prescription, and a 
final sentence, against such portions of it as protest and secede* 
Who can account for the impressions which are made on him? 
For a mere sentence, the words of St. Augustine, struck me with a 
power which I never had felt from any words before. To take a 
familiar instance, they were like the u Turn again Whittington * 
of the chime ; or, take a more serious one, they were like the 
*' Tolle, lege, — Tolle, lege/' of the child, which converted St. Au- 
gustine himself. u Securus judicat orbis terrarum!'' By those 
great words of the ancient Father, interpreting and summing up 
the long and varied course of ecclesiastical history, the theory of 
the Via Media was absolutely pulverized. 

I became excited at the view thus opened upon me. I was just 
starting on a round of visits ; and I mentioned my state of mind 
to two most intimate friends : I think to no others. After a while, 
I got calm, and at length the vivid impression upon my imagina- 
tion faded away. What I thought about it on reflection, I will at- 
tempt to describe presently. I had to determine its logical value, 
and its bearing upon my duty. Meanwhile, so far as this was 
certain — I had seen the shadow of a hand upon the wall. It was 
clear that I had a good deal to learn on the question of the 
Churches, and that perhaps some new light was coming upon me. 
He who has seen a ghost, cannot be as if he had never seen it. 
The heavens had opened and closed again. The thought for the 
moment had been M The Church of Rome will be found right after 



" Securus Judicat Orbis Terrarum" 49 



all and then it had vanished. My old convictions remained as 
before. 

At this time, I wrote my Sermon on Divine Calls, which I pub- 
lished in my volume of Plain Sermons. It ends thus : — 

" O that we could take that simple view of things, as to feel that 
the one thing which lies before us is to please God ! What gain 
is it to please the world, to please the great, nay even to please 
those whom we love, compared with this ? What gain is it to be 
applauded, admired, courted, followed, — compared with this one 
aim, of not being * disobedient to a heavenly vision ?' What can 
this world offer comparable with that insight into spiritual things, 
that keen faith, that heavenly peace, that high sanctity, that ever- 
lasting righteousness, that hope of glory, which they have, who in 
sincerity love and follow our Lord Jesus Christ? Let us beg and 
pray Him day by day to reveal Himself to our souls more fully, 
to quicken our senses, to give us sight and hearing, taste and 
touch of the world to come ; so to work within us, that we may 
sincerely say, * Thou shalt guide me with thy counsel, and after 
that receive me with glory. Whom have I in heaven but Thee? 
and there is none upon earth that I desire in comparison of Thee. 
My flesh and my heart faileth, but God is the strength of my heart, 
and my portion for ever.' " 

Now to trace the succession of thoughts, and the conclusions, 
and the consequent innovations on my previous belief, and the 
general conduct to which I was led, . . upon this sudden visi. 
tation. And first, I will say, whatever comes of saying it, for I 
leave inferences to others, that for years I must have had some- 
thing of an habitual notion, though it was latent, and had never 
led me to distrust my own convictions, that my mind had not 
found its ultimate rest, and that in some sense or other I was on 
journey. During the same passage across the Mediterranean in 
which I wrote, " Lead Kindly Light," I also wrote the verses 
which are found in the "Lyra" under the head of " Providen. 
ces," * beginning : " When I look back." This was in 1S33 ; and, 
since I have begun this narrative, I have found a memorandum 
under the date of Sept. y, 1829, in which I speak of myself as u now 
in my rooms in Oriel College slowly advancing, etc., and led on 

* [They will be found at p. 178 of u Verses on Various Occasions," under thetitla 
of " Semita Justcrum."] 



Personal. 



by God's hand blindly, not knowing whither he is taking inc.* 
But, whatever this presentiment be worth, it was no protection 
against the dismay and disgust, which I felt,in consequence of the 
dreadful misgiving, of which I have been relating the history. The 
one question was, What was I to do ? I had to make up my mind 
for myself, and others could not help me. I determined to be 
guided, not by my imagination, but by my reason. And this I 
said over and over again in the years which followed, both in con 
versation and in private letters. Had it not been for this severe 
resolve, I should have been a Catholic sooner than I was. More- 
over, I felt on consideration a positive doubt, on the other hand, 
whether the suggestion did not come from below. Then I said to 
myself, Time alone can solve that question. It was my business 
to go on as usual, to obey those convictions to which I had so long 
surrendered myself, which still had possession of me, and on 
which my new thoughts had no direct bearing. That new con- 
ception of things should only so far influence me, as it had a logi- 
cal claim to do so. If it came from above, it would come again ; 
• — so I trusted, — and with more definite outlines and greater co- 
gency and consistency of proof. I thought of Samuel, before he 
" knew the word of the Lord ; " and therefore I went and lay down 
to sleep again. (" Apologia," pp. 114-120.) 



XIII. 

THREE FURTHER BLOWS. 

In the summer of 1841, 1 found myself at Littlemore, without any 
harass or anxiety on my mind. I had determined to put aside all 
cr ntroversy, and I set myself down to my translation of St. Atha- 
n&sius ; but, between July and November, I received three blows 
which broke me. 

1. I had got but a little way in my work, when my trouble re- 
turned on me. The ghost had come a second time. In the Arian 
history I found the very same phenomenon, in a far bolder shape t 
which I had found in the Monophysite. I had not observed it In 
1832. Wonderful that this should come upon me ! I had not 



Three Further Blows. 



5 1 



sought it out. I was reading and writing in my own line of study, 
f3r from the controversies of the day, on what is called a " met a 
physical " subject ; but I saw clearly, that in the history of Arian* 
ism, the pure Arians were the Protestants, the semi-Arians were 
the Anglicans, and that Rome now was what it was then. The 
truth lay, not with the Via Media, but with what was called " the 
extreme party." As I am not writing a work of controversy, 1 
need not enlarge upon the argument; I have said something or* 
the subject in a volume from which I have already quoted. 

2„ I was in the misery of this new unsettlement when a second 
blow came upon me. The Bishops, one after another, began to 
charge against me. It was a formal, determinate movement. This 
was the real understanding ; that on which I had acted on the first 
appearance of Tract Ninety, had come to naught. I think the 
words which had then been used to me were, that " perhaps two 
or three of them might think it necessary to say something in their 
charges but by this time they had tided over the difficulty of the 
Tract, and there was no one to enforce the understanding. They 
went on in this way, directing charges at me, for three whole 
years. I recognized it as a condemnation ; it was the only one 
that was in their power. . . 

3. As if this were not enough, there came the affair of the Jeru- 
salem Bishopric. . . At the very time that the Anglican 
Bishops were directing their censures upon me for avowing an ap- 
proach to the Catholic Church not closer than I believed the An- 
glican formularies would allow, they were, on the other hand, fra- 
ternizing, by their act or by their sufferance, with Protestant 
bodies, and allowing them to put themselves under an Anglican 
Bishop, without any renunciation of their errors, or regard to their 
due reception of Baptism and Confirmation ; while there was 
great reason to suppose that the said Bishop was intended to make 
converts from the orthodox Greeks and the schismatical Oriental 
bodies, by means of the influence of England- This was the third 
blow, which finaliy shattered my faith in the Ang"ican Church. 
That Church was not only forbidding any sympathy or concur- 
rence with the Church of Rome, but it actually was courting an 
intercommunion with Protestant Prussia and the heresy of the 
Orientals. The Anglican Church might have the Apostolical suc- 
cession, as had the Monophysites, but such acts as were in pro- 
gress led me to the gravest suspicion, not that it would soon cease 



5 2 



Personal. 



to be a Church, but that, since the 16th century, it had never been 
a Church all along. . . 

Looking back two years afterwards, on the above-mentioned 
and other acts, on the part of Anglican Ecclesiastical authorities, 
I observed : "Many a man might have held an abstract theory 
about the Catholic Church, to which it was difficult to adjust the 
Anglican, — might have admitted a suspicion, or even painful 
doubts, about the latter, — yet never have been impelled onwards, 
had our rulers preserved the quiescence of former years ; but it is 
the corroboration of a present, living, and energetic heterodoxy 
which realizes and makes them practical ; it has been the recent 
speeches and acts of authorities, who had so long been tolerant of 
Protestant error, which have given to enquiry and to theory its 
force and its edge." 

As to the prjoect of a Jerusalem Bishopric, I never heard of any 
good or harm it has ever done, except what it has done for me, 
which many think a great misfortune, and I one of the greatest of 
mercies. It brought me on to the beginning of the end. (" Apo- 
logia," pp. 139-146.) 



XIV. 

FROM 1841 TO 1845. 

From the end of 1841, I was on my death-bed, as regards my 
membership with the Anglican Church, though at the time I be- 
came aware of it only by degrees. . . . My dear friend, Dr. 
Russell, the present President of Maynooth, had perhaps more to 
do with my conversion than any one else. He called upon me in 
passing through Oxford in the summer of 1341, and I think I took 
him over some of the buildings of the University. He called 
again another summer, on his way from Dublin to London. I do 
not recollect that he said a word on the subject of religion on 
either occasion. He sent me at different times several letters ; he 
was always gentle, mild, unobtrusive, uncontroversial. He let 
me alone. He also gave me one or two books. Veron's Rule 
of Faith and some Treatises of the Wallenburghs, was one ; a vol- 
ume of St. Alphonso Liguori's Sermons, was another. 

Now it must be observed that the writings of St. Alphonso, as 



From 1841 to 1845. 



53 



I knew them by the extracts commonly made from them, preju* 
diced me as much against the Roman Church as anything else, on 
-account of what was called their " Mariolatry ; " but there was 
nothing of the kind in this book. I wrote to ask Dr. Russell 
whether anything had been left out in the translation ; he answered 
that there certainly were omissions in one Sermon about the 
Blessed Virgin. This omission, in the case of a book intended 
for Catholics, at least showed that such passages as are found in 
the works of Italian Authors were not acceptable to every part of 
the Catholic world. Such devotional manifestations in honor of 
Our Lady had been my great crux as regards Catholicism ; I say 
frankly, I do not fully enter into them now ; I trust I do not love 
her the less, because I cannot enter into them. They maybe fully 
explained and defended, but sentiment and taste do not run with 
logic; they were suitable for Italy, but they are not suitable for 
England. But, over and above England, my own case was special : 
from a boy I had been led to consider that my Maker and I, His 
creature, were the two beings, luminously such, in rerum naturd t 
I will not here speculate, however, about my own feelings. Only 
this I know full well now, and did not know then, that the Catho- 
lic Church allows no image of any sort, material or immaterial, 
no dogmatic symbol, no rite, no sacrament, no Saint, not even the 
Blessed Virgin herself, to come between the soul and its Creator. 
It is face to face, " solus cum solo," in all matters between man 
and his God. He alone creates ; He alone has redeemed ; before 
His awful eyes we go in death ; in the vision of Him is our eternal 
beatitude. 

I. Solus cum solo: — I recollect but indistinctly what I gained 
from the volume of which I have been speaking, but it must have 
been something considerable. At least I had got a key to a diffi. 
culty ; in these Sermons (or rather heads of sermons, as they seem 
to be, taken down by a hearer), there is much of what would be 
called legendary illustration, but the substance of them is p^ain, 
practical, awful preaching upon the great truths of salvation. 
What I can speak of with greater confidence is the effect produced 
on me, a little later, by studying the Exercises of St. Ignatius, 
l or here again, in a matter consisting in the purest and most di- 
rect acts of religion, — in the intercourse between God and the soul, 
during a season of recollection, of repentance, of good resolution, 
of enquiry into vocation, — the soul was " sola cum solo there 



54 



Personal. 



was no cloud interposed between the creature and the Object of 
his faith and love. The command practically enforced was, il My 
son, give Me thy heart?" The devotions then to Angels and 
Saints as little interfered with the incommunicable glory of the 
Eternal, as the love which we bear our friends and relations, cur 
tender human sympathies, are inconsistent with that supreme 
homage cf the heart to the Unseen, which really does but sanctify 
and exalt, not jealously destroy, what is of earth. At a later date 
Dr. Russell sent me a large bundle of penny or halfpenny books 
of devotion, of all sorts, as they are found in the booksellers' shops 
in Rome, and, on looking them over, I was quite astonished to 
find how different they were from what I had fancied, how little 
there was in them to which I could really object. I have giren an 
account of them in my " Essay on the Development of Doctrine." 
Dr. Russell sent me St. Alphonso's book at the end of 1842 ; how- 
ever, it was still a long time before I got over my difficulty, on the 
score of the devotions paid to the Saints ; perhaps, as I judge from 
a letter I have turned up, it was some way into 1S44 before I could 
be said fully to have got over it. 

2. I am not sure that I did not also at this time feel the force of 
another consideration. The idea of the Blessed Virgin was, as it 
were, magnified in the Church of Rome, as time went on, — but so 
were all the Christian ideas ; as that of the Blessed Eucharist. 
The whole scene of pale, faint, distant Apostolic Christianity is 
seen in Rome, as through a telescope or magnifier. The harmony 
of the whole, however, is, of course, what it was. It is unfair then 
to take one Roman idea, that of the Blessed Virgin, out of what 
may be called its context. 

3. Thus I am brought to the principle of development of doc- 
trine in the Christian Church, to which I gave my mind at the end 
of 1842. I had made mention of it in 4< Home Thoughts Abroad," 
published in 1836, and, even at an earlier date, I had introduced it 
into my " History of the Arians," in 1832 ; nor had I ever lost sight 
of it in my speculations. And it is certainly recognized in the 
Treatise of Vincent of Lerins, which has so often been taken as 
the basis of Anglicanism. In 1843 I began to consider it atten* 
tively. I made it the subject of my last University Sermon, on 
February 2 ; and the general view to which I came is stated thus, in 
a letter to a friend, of the date of July 14, 1844. It will be observed, 
that now, as before, my issue is still Creed versus Church : — 



From 1 84 1 to 1845. 



S5 



M The kind of considerations which weighs with me are such as 
the following : I. I am far more certain (according to the Fathers) 
that we are in a state of culpable separation, than that develop- 
ments do not exist under the Gospel, and that the Roman deve- 
lopments are not the true ones. 2. I am far more certain, that out 
(modern) doctrines are wrong, than that the Roman (modern) doc- 
trines are wrong. 3. Granting that the Roman (special) doctrines 
are not found drawn out in the early Church, yet I think there is 
sufficient trace of them in it, to recommend and prove them,^« the 
hypothesis of the Church having a divine guidance, though not 
sufficient to prove them by itself. So that the question simply 
turns on the nature of the promise of the Spirit made to the Church. 
4. The proof of the Roman (modern) doctrine is as strong (01 
Stronger) in Antiquity as that of certain doctrines which both we 
and Romans hold : e.g. there is more of evidence in Antiquity for 
the necessity of Unity, than for the Apostolical succession ; for 
the Supremacy of the See of Rome, than for the Presence in the 
Eucharist ; for the practice of Invocation, than for certain books 
in the present Canon of Scripture, etc., etc. 5. The analogy of the 
Old Testament, and also of the New, leads to the acknowledg- 
ment of doctrinal developments." 

4. And thus I was led on to a further consideration. I saw that 
the principle of development not only accounted for certain facts, 
but was in itself a remarkable philosophical phenomenon, giving 
a character to the whole course of Christian thought. It was dis- 
cernible from the first years of Catholic teaching up to the present 
day, and gave to that teaching a unity and individuality. It served 
as a sort of test, which the Anglican could not exhibit, that mod- 
ern Rome was in truth ancient Antioch, Alexandria, and Con- 
stantinople, just as a mathematical curve has its own law and 
expression. 

5. And thus I was led on to examine more attentively what I 
doubt not was in my thoughts long before, viz. the concatenation 
of argument by which the mind ascends from its first to its final 
religious idea, and I came to the conclusion that there was no me- 
dium, in true philosophy, between Atheism and Catholicity, and 
that a perfectly consistent mind, under those circumstances in 
which it finds itself here below, must embrace either the one or 
the other. And I hold this still : I am a Catholic by virtue of my 
believing in a God ; and if I am asked why I believe in a God, I 



56 



Personal. 



answer, that it is because I believe in myself, for I find it impossi- 
ble to believe in my own existence (and of that fact lam quite sure) 
without believing also in the existence of Him, who lives as a Per- 
sonal, All-seeing, All-judging Being in my conscience. Now, 1 
daresay, I have not expressed myself with philosophical correct- 
ness, because I have not given myself to the study of what meta- 
physicians have said on the subject, but I think I have a strong 
true meaning in what I say, which will stand examination. 

6. Moreover, I found a corroboration of the fact of the logical 
connection of Theism with Catholicism in a consideration parallel 
to that which I had adopted on the subject of development of doc- 
trine. The fact of the operation, from first to last, of that principle 
of development in the truths of Revelation, is an argument in favor 
of the identity of Roman and primitive Christianity ; but as there 
is a law which acts upon the subject-matter of dogmatic theology, 
so there is a law in the matter of religious faith. In a [former 
portion]* of this narrative I spoke of certitude as the consequence, 
divinely intended and enjoined upon us, of the accumulative force 
of certain given reasons which, taken one by one, were only pro- 
babilities. Let it be recollected that I am historically relating my 
state of mind, at the period of my life which I am surveying. I am 
not speaking theologically, nor have I any intention of going into 
controversy: but, speaking historically of what I held in 1843-4, 
I say, that I believed in a God on a ground of probability, that I 
believed in Christianity on a probability, and that I believed in 
Catholicism on a probability, and that these three grounds of pro- 
bability, distinct from each other of course in subject-matter, were 
still, all of them, one and the same in nature of proof, as being pro- 
babilities — probabilities of a special kind, a cumulative, a trans- 
cendent probability, but still probability ; inasmuch as He who 
has made us has so willed, that in mathematics, indeed, we should 
arrive at certitude by rigid demonstration, but in religious enquiry 
we should arrive at certitude by accumulated probabilities ; — 
He has willed, I say, that we should so act, and, as willing it, 
He co-operates with us in our acting, and thereby enables us to 
do that which He wills us to do, and carries us on, if our will 
does but co-operate with His, to a certitude which rises higher 
than the logical force of our conclusions. And thus I carr e to see 



* [See page 23 .] 



Reception. 



57 



clearly, and to have a satisfaction in seeing, that, in being led on 
into the Church of Rome, I was not proceeding on any secondary 
or isolated grounds of reason, or by controversial points in detail, 
but was protected and justified, even in the use of those secondary 
or particular arguments, by a great and broad principle. But, let 
it be observed that I am stating a matter of fact, not defending it, 
and if any Catholic says in consequence that I have been converted 
in a wrong way, I cannot help that now. 

I have nothing more to say on the subject of the change in my 
religious opinions. On the one hand I came gradually to see that 
the Anglican Church was formally in the wrong, on the other that 
the Church of Rome was formally in the right ; * then, that no 
valid reasons could be assigned for continuing in the Anglican, 
and again that no valid objections could be taken to joining the 
Roman. Then, I had nothing more to learn ; what still remained 
for my conversion, was, not further change of opinion, but to 
change opinion itself into the clearness and firmness of intellectual 
conviction. ("Apologia," pp. 147-200.) 



XV. 

RECEPTION. 

In 1843, I took two very significant steps : — 1. In February I 
made a formal retraction of all the hard things which I had said 
against the Church of Rome. 2. In September I resigned the 
living of St. Mary's, Littlemore, included. . . I [began] mj 
Essay on the Development of Doctrine in the beginning of 1S45, 
and I was hard at it all through the year until October. As I ad- 
vanced, my difficulties so cleared away that I ceased to speak of 
"the Roman Catholics, " and called them boldly Catholics. Before 
I got to the end, I resolved to be received, and the book remains 
in the state which it was then, unfinished. 

One of my friends at Littlemore had been received into the 
Church on Michaelmas day, at the Passionist House, at Aston, 
near Stone, by Father Dominic, the Superior. At the beginning 
of October the latter was passing through London to Belgium, 
and, as I was in some perplexity what steps to take for being re. 



5§ 



Personal. 



of October the latter was passing through London to Belgium, and 
as I was in some perplexity what steps to take for being received 
myself, I assented to the proposition made to me, that the good 
priest should take Littlemore in his way, with a view to his doing 
for me the same charitable service as he had done to my friend. 

On October the Sth I wrote to a number of friends the following 
letter : — 

" Littlemore, October Sth, 1845. I am this night expecting 
Father Dominic, the Passionist, who, from his youth, has been led 
to have distinct and direct thoughts, first of the countries of the 
north, then of England. After thirty years' (almost) waiting, he 
was, without his own act, sent here. But he has had little to do 
with conversions. I saw him here for a few minutes on St. John 
Baptist's day last year. 

" He is a simple, holy man ; and withal gifted with remarkable 
powers. He does not know of my intention ; but I mean to ask of 
him admission into the One Fold of Christ. . ." 

For a while after my reception, I proposed to betake myself to some 
secular calling. . . [But] soon, Dr. Wiseman, in whose Vica- 
riate Oxford lay, called me to Oscott ; and I went there with others ; 
afterwards he sent me to Rome, and finally placed me in Birming 
ham. . . I left Oxford for good on Monday, February 23, 1S46. 
On the Saturday and Sunday before I was in my house at Little- 
more. simply by myself, as I had been for the first day or two 
when I had originally taken possession of it. I slept on Sunday 
night at my dear friend's, Mr. Johnson's, at the Observatory. Va- 
rious friends came to see the last of' me ; Mr. Copeland, Mr. 
Church, Mr. Buckle, Mr. Pattison, and Mr. Lewis. Dr. Pusey, 
too, came up to take leave of me ; and I called on Dr. Ogle, one 
of my very oldest friends, for he was my private Tutor, when I 
was an Undergraduate. In him I took leave of my first College, 
Trinity, which was so dear to me, and which held on its foundation 
so many who had been kind to me, both when I was a boy, and all 
through my Oxford life. Trinity had never been unkind to me. 
There used to be much snap-dragon growling on the walls oppo- 
site my freshman's rooms there, and I had for years taken it as the 
emblem of my own perpetual residence even unto death in my 
University. On the morning of the 23rd I left the Observatory. 
I have never seen Oxford since, excepting its spires, as they are 
sjen from the railway. p 1 Apologia," pp. 200-237.) 



Since 1845. 



59 



XVI. 
SINCE 1845. 

From the time that I became a Catholic, of course I have no fur 
ther history of my religious opinions to relate. In saying this I 
do not mean to say that my mind has been idle, or that I have 
given up thinking on theological subjects, but that I have had no 
variations to record, and have had no anxiety of heart whatever* 
I have been in perfect peace and contentment. I never have had 
one doubt. I was not conscious to myself, on my conversion, of 
any change, intellectual or moral, wrought in my mind. I was not 
conscious of firmer faith in the fundamental truths of Revelation, 
or of more self-command ; I had not more fervor; but it was like 
coming into port after a rough sea, and my happiness on that 
score remains to this day without interruption. 

Nor had I any difficulty about receiving those additional articles 
which are not found in the Anglican creed. Some of them I be- 
lieved already, but not any one of them was a trial to me. I made 
a profession of them upon my reception with the greatest ease, 
and I have the same ease in believing them now. I am far, of 
course, from denying that every article of the Christian Creed, 
whether as held by Catholics or by Protestants, is beset with in- 
tellectual difficulties, and it is simple fact, that, for myself, I cannot 
answer those difficulties. Many persons are very sensitive of the 
difficulties of religion. I am as sensitive of them as any one, but 
I have never been able to see a connection between apprehending 
those difficulties, however keenly, and multiplying them to any 
extent, and, on the other hand, doubting the doctrines to which 
they are attached. Ten thousand difficulties do not make cne 
doubt, as I understand the subject ; difficulty and doubt are .n- 
commensurate. There of course may be difficulties in the evi- 
dence, but I am speaking of difficulties intrinsic to the doctrines 
themselves, or to their relations with each other. A man may be 
annoyed that he cannot work out a mathematical problem, of which 
the answer is or is not given him, without doubting that it admits 
of an answer, or that a certain particular answer is the true one. 
Of all points of faith, the being of a God is, to my own apprehen- 
sion, encompassed with most difficulty, and yet borne in upon our 
minds with most power. ("Apologia," pp. 238-239.) 



6o 



Per so nal. 



XVII. 

THE ANGLICAN CHURCH SEEN FROM WITHOU1. 

I said, in a former page, that, on my conversion, I was not con- 
scious of any change in me of thought or feeling, as regards mat. 
ters of doctrine. This, however, was not the case as regards some 
matters of fact, and, unwilling as I am to give offence to religious 
Anglicans, I am bound to confess that I felt a great change in my 
view of the Church of England. I cannot tell how soon there came 
on me — but very soon — an extreme astonishment that I had ever 
imagined it to be a portion of the Catholic Church. For the first 
time, I looked at it from without, and (as I should myself say.) saw 
it as it was. Forthwith I could not get myself to see in it anything 
else, than what I had so long fearfully suspected, from as far back 
as 1836, — a mere national institution. As if my eyes were sud- 
denly opened, so I saw it — spontaneously, apart from any definite 
act of reason or any argument ; and so I have seen it ever since # 
I suppose, the main cause of this lay in the contrast which was 
presented to me by the Catholic Church. Then I recognized at 
once a reality which was quite a new thing with me. Then I was 
sensible that I was not making for myself a Church by an effort of 
thought. I needed not to make an act of faith in her ; I had not 
painfully to force myself into a position, but my mind fell back 
upon itself in relaxation and peace, and I gazed at her almost pas. 
sively as a great objective fact. I looked at her ; — at her rites, her 
ceremonial, and her precepts, and I said, " This is a religion;" 
and then, when I looked back upon the poor Anglican Church 
for which I had labored so hard, and upon all that appertained to 
it, and thought of our various attempts to dress it up doctrinally 
and aesthetically, it seemed to me to be the veriest of nonentities. 
Vanity of vanities, all is vanity! How can I make a record 
of what passed within me without seeming to be satirical? But I 
speak plain, serious words. As people call me credulous for ac- 
knowledging Catholic claims, so they call me satirical for disown- 
ing Anglican pretensions ; to them it is credulity, to them it is 
satire ; but it is not so in me. What they think exaggeration, I 
think truth. I am not speaking of the Anglican Church with any 
disdain, though to them I seem contemptuous. To them of course 
it is " Aut Caesar aut nullus," but not to me. It may be a great 



The Anglican Church Seen from Without. 



61 



creation though it be not divine, and this is how I judge of it. Men 
who abjure the divine right of kings would be very indignant, if 
on that account they were considered disloyal. And so I recog- 
nize in the Anglican Church * a time-honored institution, of noble 
historical memories, a monument of ancient wisdom, a moment- 
ous arm of political strength, a great national organ, a source of 
vast popular advantage, and, to a certain point, a witness and 
teacher of religious truth. I do not think that, if what I have 
written about it since I have been a Catholic, be equitably considered 
as a whole, I shall be found to have taken any other view than 
this ; but that it is something sacred, that it is an oracle of revealed 
doctrine, that it can claim a share in St. Ignatius or St. Cyprian, 
that it can take the rank, contest the teaching, and stop the path of 
the Church of St. Peter, that it can call itself " the Bride of the 
Lamb," this is the view of it which simply disappeared from my 
mind on my conversion, and which it would be almost a miracle 
to reproduce. 14 1 went by, and lo ! it was gone ; I sought it, but 
its place could nowhere be found ;" and nothing can bring it back 
to me. And, as to its possession of an episcopal succession from 
the time of the Apostles, well, it may have it, and if the Holy See 
ever so decide, I will believe it, as being the decision of a higher 
judgment than my own ; but, for myself, I must have St. Philip's 
gift, who saw the sacerdotal character on the forehead of a gaily- 
attired youngster, before I can by my own wit acquiesce in it, for 
antiquarian arguments are altogether unequal to the urgency of 
visible facts. Why is it that I must pain dear friends by saying 
so, and kindle a sort of resentment against me in the kindest of 
hearts ? But I must, though to do it be not only a grief to me, 
but most impolitic at the moment. Anyhow, this is my mind, and, if 
to have it, if to have betrayed it, before now, involuntarily, by my 
words or my deeds, if on a fitting occasion, as now, to have 
avowed it, if all this be a proof of the justice of the charge brought 
against me, of having " turned round upon my Mother-Church 
with contumely and slander," in this sense, but in no other sense, 
do I plead guilty to it without a word in extenuation. 

In no other sense, surely. The Church of England has been the 
instrument of Providence in conferring great benefits on me ; — had 
I been born in Dissent perhaps I should never have been baptized ; 



[See page 210.] 



62 



Personal. 



had I been born an English Presbyterian, perhaps I should nevei 
have known our Lord's divinity ; had I not come to Oxford, per- 
naps I never should have heard of the visible Church, or of Tra- 
dition, or other Catholic doctrines. And as I have received so 
much good from the Anglican Establishment itself, can I have the 
heart, or rather the want of charity, considering that it does for so 
many others, what it has done for me, to wish to see it over- 
thrown? I have no such wish while it is what it is, and while we 
are so small a body. Not for its own sake, but for the sake of the 
many congregations to which it ministers, I will do nothing against 
it. While Catholics are so weak in England, it is doing our work ; 
and though it does no harm in a measure, at present the balance 
is in our favor. What our duty would be at another time, and in 
other circumstances, supposing, for instance, the Establishment 
lost its dogmatic faith, or at least did not preach it, is another mat- 
ter altogether. In secular history we read of hostile nations hav- 
ing long truces, and renewing them from time to time, and tha^ 
seems to be the position which the Catholic Church may fairly 
take up at present in relation to the Anglican Establishment. 

Doubtless the National Church has hitherto been a serviceable 
breakwater against doctrinal errors more fundamental than its 
own. How long this will last in the years now before us, it is im- 
possible to say, for the Nation drags down its Church to its own 
level ; but still the National Church has the same sort of influence 
over the nation that a periodical has upon the party which it rep- 
resents, and my own idea of a Catholic's fitting attitude towards 
the National Church, in this its supreme hour, is that of assisting 
and sustaining it, if it be in our power, in the interest of dogmatic 
truth. I should wish to avoid everything (except, indeed, under 
the direct call of duty, and this is a material exception,) which 
went to weaken its hold upon the public mind, or to unsettle its 
establishment, or to embarrass and lessen its maintenance of those 
great Christian and Catholic principles and doctrines which it has^ 
up tc this time, successfully preached. (" Apologia," pp. 339-342.) 



letter to Father Coleridge on Anglican Orders. 63 



LETTER TO FATHER COLERIDGE ON ANGLICAN 
ORDERS. 

The Oratory, Birmingham, 
August 5, 1868. 

My dear Father Coleridge, — 

You ask me what I precisely mean, in my " Apologia," . . by 
saying, apropos of Anglican Orders, that M antiquarian arguments 
are altogether unequal to the urgency of visible facts."* I will try 
to explain : — 

I. The enquiry into Anglican orders has ever been to me of the 
class which I must call dreary, for it is dreary, surely, to have to 
grope into the minute intricate passages and obscure corners of 
past occurrences in order to ascertain whether this man was ever 
consecrated ; whether that man used a valid form ; whether a cer- 
tain sacramental intention came up to the mark ; whether the re- 
port or register of an ecclesiastical act can be cleared of suspicion. 
On giving myself to consider the question, I never have been able 
to arrive at anything higher than a probable conclusion, which is 
most unsatisfactory, except to antiquarians, who delight in re- 
searches into the past for their own sake. 

II. Now, on the other hand, what do I mean by " visilfle facts ?" 
I mean such definite facts as throw a broad antecedent light upon 
what may be presumed, in a case in which sufficient evidence is 
not forthcoming. For instance : — 

1. The Apostolical Succession, its necessity, and its grace, is 
not an Anglican tradition, though it is a tradition found in the 
Anglican Church. By contrast, our Lord's divinity is an Angli- 
can tradition — every one, high and low, holds it. It is not only in 
Prayer Book and Catechism, but in the mouhs of all professors 
of Anglicanism. Not to believe it, is to be no Anglican ; and 
any persons in authority, for three hundred years, who were sus 
pected to doubt or explain it away, were marked men, as Dr. 
Colenso is now marked. And they have been so few that the> 
could be counted. Not such is the Apostolic Succession ; and 
considering that the Church is the " wlumna et fimiamtntum veru 



* [Vide page 61.] 



6 4 



Personal. 



tatis" and is ever bound to stir up the gift that is in her, there is 
surely a strong presumption that the Anglican body has not, what it 
does not profess to have. I wonder how many of its bishops and 
deans hold the doctrine at this time ; some who do not, occur to 
the mind at once. One knows what was the case thirty or forty 
years ago by the famous saying* of Blomfield, Bishop of London 

2. If there is a true Succession, there is a true Eucharist ; if there 
is not a true Eucharist, there is no true Succession. Now, what is 
the presumption here? I think it is Mr. Alexander Knox who 
says or suggests, that if so great a gift be given, it must have a 
rite. I add, if it has a rite, it must have a custos of the rite. Who 
is the custos of the Anglican Eucharist? The Anglican Clergy} 
Could I, without distressing or offending an Anglican, describe 
what sort of custodes they have been, and are to their Eucharist? 
" O bone custos," in the words of the poet, " cui c©mmendavi Filium 
Meum ! " Is it not charitable towards the bulk of the Anglican cler- 
gy to hope, to believe, that so great a treasure has not been given 
*o their keeping? And, would our Lord leave Himself for cen- 
turies in such hands? Inasmuch, then, as " the Sacrament of the 
body and blood of Christ," in the Anglican communion is with- 
out protective ritual and jealous guardianship, there seems to me 
a strong presumption that neither the real gift, nor its appointed 
guardians, are to be found in that communion. 

3. Previous baptism is the condition of the valid administration 
of the other sacraments. When I was in the Anglican Church I 
saw enough of the lax administration of baptism, even among High 
Churchmen, though they did not, of course, intend it, to fill me 
with great uneasiness. Of course there are definite persons, whom 
one might point out, whose baptisms are sure to be valid. But 
my argument has nothing to do with present baptisms. Bishops 
were baptized, not lately, but as children ; the present bishops 
were consecrated by other bishops, they again by others. What I 
have seen in the Anglican Church makes it very difficult for me to 
deny that every now and then a bishop was a consecrator who had 
never been baptized. Some bishops have been brought up in the 
north as Presbyterians, others as Dissenters, others as Low 
Churchmen, others have been baptized in the careless perfunctory 
way once so common. There is, then, much reason to belie\w 



* [Vide page ag.] 



Letter to Father Coleridge on Angtican Orders. 65 



.hat some consecrators were not bishops for the simple reason 
that, formally speaking, they were not Christians. But, at least, 
there is a great presumption that where evidently our Lord has not 
provided a rigid rule of baptism, he has not provided a valid ordi- 
nation. 

By the light of such presumptions as these, I interpret the 
doubtful issues of the antiquarian argument, and feel deeply that 
if Anglican orders are unsafe with reference to the actual evidence 
producible for their validity, much more unsafe are they when con- 
sidered in their surroundings.* 

Most sincerely yours, 

John H. Newman, 
(Essays Crit. and Hist. vol. ii. p. 109.) 

• [The question of " Anglican Orders " is discussed more fully at p. 213.] 



•{As to "what ft was that converted Dr. Newman, * see p. §50.) 



PART II. 

PHILOSOPHICAL. 



( 



INTELLECTUAL EDUCATION PRE-EMINENTLY A 
DISCIPLINE IN ACCURACY OF MIND. 

It has often been observed that, when the eyes of the infant 
first open upon the world, the reflected rays of light which strike 
them from the myriad of surrounding objects presents to him no 
image, but a medley of colors and shadows. They do not form 
into a whole ; they do not rise into foregrounds and melt into 
distances ; they do not divide into groups ; they do not coalesce 
into unities ; they do not combine into persons ; but each parti- 
cular hue and tint stands by itself, wedged in amid a thousand 
others upon the vast and flat mosaic, having no intelligence, and 
conveying no story, any more than the wrong side of some rich 
tapestry. The little babe stretches out his arms and fingers, as if 
to grasp or to fathom the many-colored vision ; and thus he 
gradually learns the connection of part with part, separates what 
moves from what is stationary, watches the coming and going of 
figures, masters the idea of shape and of perspective, calls in the 
information conveyed through the other senses to assist him in 
his mental process, and thus gradually converts a kaleidoscope 
into a picture. The first view was the more splendid, the second 
the more real ; the former more poetical, the latter more philo- 
sophical. Alas ! what are we doing all through life, both as a 
necessity and as a duty, but unlearning the world's poetry, and 
attaining to its prose ! This is our education as boys and as men, 
in the action of life and in the closet or library ; in our affections, 
in our aims, in our hopes, and in our memories. And in like 
manner it is the education of our intellect ; I say, that one main 
portion of intellectual education, of the labors of both school and 
university, is to remove the original dimness of the mind's eye ; 
to strengthen and perfect its vision ; to enable it to look out into 
the world right forward, steadily and truly ; to give the mind 
clearness, accuracy, precision ; to. enable it to use words aright, 
to understand what it says, to conceive justly what it thinks 

7* 



72 



Philosophical. 



about, to abstract, compare, analyze, divide, define, and reason 
correctly. There is a particular science which takes these mat- 
ters in hand, and it is called logic ; but it is not by logic— 
certainly not by logic alone — that the faculty I speak of is 
acquired. The infant does not learn to spell and read the hues 
upon his retina by any scientific rule ; nor does the student learn 
accuracy of thought by any manual or treatise. The instruction 
given him, of whatever kind, if it be really instruction, is mainly, 
or at least pre-eminently, this — a discipline in accuracy of mind. 

Boys are always more or less inaccurate, and too many, or 
rather the majority, remain boys all their lives. When, for 
instance, I hear speakers at public meetings declaiming about 
" large and enlightened views," or about " freedom of conscience," 
or about " the Gospel," or any other popular subject of the day, 
I am far from denying that some among them know what they are 
talking about ; but it would be satisfactory, in a particular case, 
to be sure of the fact ; for it seems to me that those household 
words may stand in a man's mind for a something or other, very 
glorious indeed, but very misty, pretty much like the idea of 
u civilization " which floats before the mental vision of a Turk — 
that is if, when he interrupts his smoking to utter the word, he 
condescends to reflect whether it has any meaning at all. Again, 
a critic, in a periodical, dashes off, perhaps, his praises of a new 
work, as " talented, original, replete with intense interest, irre- 
sistible in argument, and in the best sense of the word a very 
readable book " — can we believe that he cares to attach any 
definite sense to the words of which he is so lavish? nay, that, if 
he had a habit of attaching sense to them, he could ever bring 
himself to so prodigal and wholesale an expenditure of them ? 

To a short-sighted person colors run together and intermix, 
outlines disappear, blues and reds and yellows become russets or 
browns; the lamps and candles of an illumination spread into 
an unmeaning glare, or dissolve into a milky-way. He takes up' 
an eye-glass, and the mist clears up, every image stands out dis- 
tinct, and the rays of light fall back upon their centres. It is this 
haziness of intellectual vision which is the malady of al) classes 
of men by nature, of those who read and write and compose, 
quite as well as of those who cannot — of all who have not had a 
really good education* Those who cannot read or write may, 
tt«verthelfes l S > tfe in the number of those who have remedied and 



The Popular Conception of an " Litellectual Many 73 



got rid of it ; those who can are too often under its power. It is 
an acquisition quite separate from miscellaneous information or 
knowledge of books. (" Idea of a University," p. 331.) 



THE POPULAR CONCEPTION OF AN " INTELLECTUAL 

MAN." 

An intellectual man, as the world now conceives of him, is one 
who is full of "views" on all subjects of philosophy, on all 
matters of the day. It is almost thought a disgrace not to have a 
view at a moment's notice on any question from the Personal 
Advent to the Cholera or Mesmerism. This is owing in great 
measure to the necessities of periodical literature, now so much 
in request. Every quarter of a year, every month, every day, there 
must be a supply for the gratification of the public, of new and 
luminous theories on the subjects of religion, foreign politics, 
home politics, civil economy, finance, trade, agriculture, emigra- 
tion, and the colonies. Slavery, the gold-fields, German philo- 
sophy, the French Empire, Wellington, Peel, Ireland, must all be 
practised on, day after day, by what are called original thinkers. 
As the great man's guest must produce his good stories or songs 
at the evening banquet, as the platform-orator exhibits his telling 
facts at mid-day, so the journalist lies under the stern obligation 
of extemporizing his lucid views, leading ideas, and nutshell 
truths for the breakfast-table. The very nature of periodical 
literature, broken into small wholes, and demanded punctually 
to an hour, involves the habit of this extempore philosophy 
"Almost all the Ramblers," says Boswell of Johnson, H were 
written just as they were wanted for the press ; he sent a certain 
portion of the copy of an essay, and wrote the remainder while 
the former part of it was printing." Few men have the gifts of 
Johnson, who to great vigor and resource of intellect, when it 
was fairly roused, united a rare common-sense and a conscien- 
tious regard for veracity, which preserved him from flippancy or 
extravagance in writing. Few men are Johnsons ; yet how many 
men at this day are assailed by incessant demands on their men- 
tal powers, which only a productiveness like his could suitably 



74 



Philosophical. 



supply ! There is a demand for a reckless originality of thought, 
and a sparkling plausibility of argument, which he would have 
despised, even if he could have displayed ; a demand for crude 
theory and unsound philosophy, rather than none at all. It is a 
sort of repetition of the i 1 Quid novi?" of the Areopagus, and it 
must have an answer. Men must be found who can treat, where 
it is necessary, like the Athenian sophist, de o?nni scibili, 

11 Grammaticus, Rhetor, Geometres, Pictor, Aliptes, 
Augur, Schoenobates, Medicus, Magus, omnia novit." 

I am speaking of such writers with a feeling of real sympathy 
for men who are under the rod of a cruel slavery. I have never 
indeed been in such circumstances myself, nor in the temptations 
which they involve ; but most men who have had to do with 
composition must know the distress which at times it occasions 
them to have to write — a distress sometimes so keen and so 
specific that it resembles nothing else than bodily pain. That 
pain is the token of the wear and tear of mind ; and, if works 
done comparatively at leisure involve such mental fatigue and 
exhaustion, what must be the toil of those whose intellects are to 
be flaunted daily before the public in full dress, and that dress 
ever new and varied, and spun, like the silkworm's, out of them- 
selves ! Still, whatever true sympathy we may feel for the minis- 
ters of this dearly-purchased luxury, and whatever sense we may 
have of the great intellectual power which the literature in ques- 
tion displays, we cannot honestly close our eyes to its direct evil. 
( a Idea of a University," Pref. xx.) 



THE ORIGIN OF POLITICAL AND RELIGIOUS 
WATCHWORDS. 

Many a disciple of a philosophical school, who talks fluently, 
does but assert, when he seems to assent to the dicta of his master, 
little as he may be aware of it. Nor is he secured against this 
self-deception by knowing the arguments on which those dicta 
rest, for he may learn the arguments by heart, as a careless school- 
boy gets up his Euclid. This practice of asserting simply on 



Real Apprehension of the Affections and Passions. 75 



authority, with the pretence and without the reality of assent, is 
what is meant by formalism. To say, " I do not understand a 
proposition, but I accept it on authority," is not formalism ; it is 
not a direct assent to the proposition, still it is an assent to the 
authority which enunciates it ; but what I here speak of is pro- 
fessing to understand without understanding. It is thus that 
political and religious watchwords are created ; first one man of 
name and then another adopts them, till their use becomes popu- 
lar, and then every one professes them because every one else 
does. Such words are "liberality," "progress/' "light," " civili- 
zation"; such are u justification by faith only," " vital religion," 
"private judgment," "the Bible, and nothing but the Bible." 
Such, again, are "Rationalism," " Gallicanism," "Jesuitism," 
" Ultramontanism " — all of which, in the mouths of conscientious 
thinkers, have a definite meaning, but are used by the multitude 
as war-cries, nicknames, and shibboleths, with scarcely enough of 
the scantiest grammatical apprehension of them to allow of their 
being considered really more than assertions. (" Grammar of 
Assent," p. 41.) 



REAL APPREHENSION OF THE AFFECTIONS AND 
PASSIONS POSSIBLE ONLY BY EXPERIENCE. 

The affections and passions of our nature are sui generis 
respectively, and incommensurable, and must be severally ex- 
perienced in order to be apprehended really.* I can understand 
the rabbia of a native of Southern Europe, if I am of a passionate 
temper myself ; and the taste for speculation or betting found in 
great traders or on the turf, if I am fond of enterprise or games 
of chance ; but, on the other hand, not all the possible descrip- 
tions of headlong love will make me comprehend the deliriu?n^ 
if I have never had a fit of it ; nor will ever so many sermons 
about the inward satisfaction of strict conscientiousness create 
the image of a virtuous action in my mind, if I have been 
brought up to lie, thieve, and indulge my appetites. Thus we 
meet with men of the world who cannot enter into the very idea 



* Really : i.e., as things, not as notions. 



7 6 



Philosophical. 



of devotion, and think, for instance, that, from the nature of the 
case, a life of religious seclusion must be either one of unutter- 
able dreariness or abandoned sensuality, because they know of 
no exercise of the affections but what is merely human ; and with 
others again who, living in the home of their own selfishness, 
ridicule as something fanatical and pitiable the self-sacrifices of 
generous high-mindedness and chivalrous honor. They cannot 
create images of these things any more than children can on the 
contrary of vice, when they ask where and who the bad men are ; 
for they have no personal memories, and have to content them- 
selves with notions drawn from books or the intercourse of life. 
(*,' Grammar of Assent, " p. 27.) 



REALIZATION. 

Let us consider, too, how differently young and old are affected 
by the words of some classic author, such as Homer or Horace. 
Passages which to a boy are but rhetorical commonplaces, neither 
better nor worse than a hundred others which any clever writer 
might supply, which he gets by heart and thinks very fine, and 
imitates, as he thinks, successfully, in his own flowing versifica- 
tion, at length come home to him, when long years have passed, 
and he has had experience of life, and pierce him, as if he had 
never before known them, with their sad earnestness and vivid 
exactness. Then he comes to understand how it is that lines, 
the birth of some chance morning or evening at an Ionian festi- 
val, or among the Sabine hills, have lasted generation after 
generation, for thousands of years, with a power over the mind, 
and a charm which the current literature of his own day, with all 
its obvious advantages, is utterly unable to rival. Perhaps this 
is the reason of the mediaeval opinion about Virgil, as if a 
prophet or magician ; his single words and phrases, his pathetic 
half-lines, giving utterances, as the voice of Nature herself, to 
that pain and weariness, yet hope of better things, which is the 
experience of her children in every time. 

And what the experience of the world effects for the illustra- 



Realization. 



11 



tion of classical authors, that office the religious sense, carefully 
cultivated, fulfils towards Hol) r Scripture. To the devout and 
spiritual, the Divine Word speaks of things, not merely of 
notions. And, again, to the disconsolate, the tempted, the per- 
plexed, the suffering, there comes, by means of their very trials, 
an enlargement of thought, which enables them to see in it what 
they never saw before. Henceforth there is to them a reality in 
its teachings, which they recognize as an argument, and the best 
of arguments, for its divine origin. Hence the practice of 
meditation on the Sacred Text, so highly thought of by Catholics. 
Reading, as we do, the gospels from our youth up, we are in 
danger of becoming so familiar with them as to be dead to their 
force, and to view them as mere history. The purpose, then, of 
meditation is to realize them ; to make the facts which they relate 
stand out before our minds as objects, such as may be appropri- 
ated by a faith as living as the imagination which apprehends 
them. 

It is obvious to refer to the unworthy use made of the more 
solemn parts of the sacred volume by the mere popular preacher. 
His very mode of reading, whether warnings or prayers, is as if 
he thought them to be little more than fine writing, poetical in 
sense, musical in sound, and worthy of inspiration. The most 
awful truths are to him but sublime or beautiful conceptions, and are 
adduced and used by him, in season and out of season, for his own 
purposes, for embellishing his style or rounding his periods. 
But let his heart at length be ploughed by some keen grief or 
deep anxiety, and Scripture is a new book to him. This is the 
change which so often takes place in what is called religious 
conversion, and it is a change so far simply for the better, by 
whatever infirmity or error it is in the particular case accompa- 
nied. And it is strikingly suggested to us, to take a saintly 
example in the confession of the patriarch Job, when he contrasts 
his apprehension of the Almighty before and after his afflictions. 
He says he had indeed a true apprehension of the Divine Attri- 
butes before them as well as after ; but with the trial came a 
great change in the character of that apprehension: ''With the 
hearing of the ear," he says, im I have heard Thee, but now mine 
eye seeth Thee ; therefore I reprehend myself, and do penance in 
dust and ashes." (' Grammar of Assent," p. 75.; 



7 8 



Philosophical, 



OUR NOTIONS OF THINGS MERELY ASPECTS OF 

THEM. 

Our notions of things are never simply commensurate with 
the things themselves ; they are aspects of them, more or less 
exact, and sometimes a mistake ab initio. Take an instance from 
arithmetic : — We are accustomed to subject all that exists to 
numeration ; but, to be correct, we are bound first to reduce to 
some level of possible comparison the things which we wish to 
number. We must be able to say, not only that they are ten, 
twenty, or a hundred, but so many different somethings. For 
instance, we could not without extravagance throw together 
Napoleon's brain, ambition, hand, soul, smile, height, and age, at 
Marengo, and say that there were seven of them, though there are 
seven words; nor will it even be enough to content ourselves 
with what may be called a negative level, viz., that these 
seven were an un-English or are a departed seven. Unless 
numeration is to issue in nonsense, it must be conducted 
on conditions. This being the case, there are, for what we know, 
collections of beings to whom the notion of number cannot be 
attached, except catachrestically, because, taken individually, no 
positive point of real agreement can be found between them, by 
which to call them.- If, indeed, we can denote them by a plural 
noun, then we can measure that plurality ; but if they agree in 
nothing, they cannot agree in bearing a common name, and to 
say that they amount to a thousand these or those, is not to 
number them, but to count up a certain number of names or 
words which we have written down. 

Thus, the Angels have been considered by divines to have each 
of them a species to himself; and we may fancy each of them so 
absolutely sici simi/is as to be like nothing else, so that it would 
be as untrue to speak of a thousand Angels as of a thousand 
Hannibals or Ciceros. It will be said, indeed, that all beings but 
One at least will come under the notion of creatures, and are 
dependent upon that one ; but that it is true of the brain, smile, 
and height of Napoleon, which no one would call three creatures. 
But, if all this be so, much more does it apply to our speculations 
concerning the Supreme Being, whom it may be unmeaning, not 
only to number with other beings, but to subject to number in 



How Men really Reason in Concrete Matters. 79 



regard to His own intrinsic characteristics. That is, to apply 
arithmetical notions to Him may be as unphilosophical as it is 
profane. Though He is at once Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, the 
word " Trinity" belongs to those notions of Him which are forced 
on us by the necessity of our finite conceptions, the real and 
immutable distinction which exists between person and person, 
implying in itself no infringement of His real and numerical 
unit)'. And if it be asked how, if we cannot speak of Him as 
Three, we can speak of Him as One, I reply that He is not 
One in the way in which created things are severally units ; for 
one, as applied to ourselves, is used in contrast to two or three 
and a whole series of numbers ; but of the Supreme Being it is 
safer to use the word " monad " than unit, for He has not even 
such relation to His creatures as to allow, philosophically speaking, 
of our contrasting Him with them. ("Grammar of Assent," p. 
47-) 



HOW MEN REALLY REASON IN CONCRETE MATTERS. 

(I.) 

It is plain that formal logical sequence is not in fact the 
method by which we are enabled to become certain of what is 
concrete ; and it is equally plain what the real and necessary 
method is. It is the cumulation of probabilities, independent of 
each other, arising out of the nature and circumstances of the 
particular case which is under review ; probabilities too fine to 
avail separately, too subtle and circuitous to be convertible into 
syllogisms, too numerous and various for such conversion, even 
were they convertible. As a man's portrait differs from a sketch 
of him in having not merely a continuous outline, but all its 
details filled in, and shades and colors laid on and harmonized 
together, such is the multiform and intricate process of ratiocina- 
tion, necessary for our reaching him as a concrete fact, compared 
with the rude operation of syllogistic treatment. 

Let us suppose I wish to convert an educated, thoughtful 
Protestant, and accordingly present for his acceptance a syllogism 
ot the following kind : — 1 ' All Protestants are bound to join the 



8o 



Philosophical. 



Church ; you are a Protestant: ergo." He answers, we will say 
by denying both premises; and he does so by means of argu 
ments, which branch out into other arguments, and those into 
others, and all of them severally requiring to be considered by 
him on their own merits, before the syllogism reaches him, and in 
consequence mounting up, taken altogether, into an array ol 
inferential exercises, large and various beyond calculation. 
Moreover, he is bound to submit himself to this complicated 
process from the nature of the case ; he would act rashly, if he 
did not ; for he is a concrete individual unit, and being so, is 
under so many laws, and is the subject of so many predications 
all at once, that he cannot determine, off-hand, his position and 
his duty by the law and the predication of one syllogism in par- 
ticular. I mean, he will fairly say, " Distinguo," to each of its 
premises : he says, " Protestants are bound to join the Church — 
under circumstances, " and " I am a Protestant — in a certain 
sense;" and therefore the syllogism, at first sight, does not 
touch him at all. 

Before, then, he grants the major, he asks whether all Protes- 
tants really are bound to join the Church — are they bound in case 
they do not feel themselves bound ; if they are satisfied that their 
present religion is a safe one ; if they are sure it is true ; if, on the 
other hand, they have grave doubts as to the doctrinal fidelity and 
purity of the Church ; if they are convinced that the Church is 
corrupt ; if their conscience instinctively rejects certain of its 
doctrines, if history convinces them that the Pope's power is not 
jure divinoy but merely in the order of Providence ? If, again, they 
are in a heathen country where priests arc not ? or where the 
only priest who is to be found exacts of them, as a condition of 
their reception, a profession, which the Creed of Pope Pius IV. 
says nothing about ; for instance, that the Holy See is fallible 
even when it teaches, or that the Temporal Power is an anti- 
Christian corruption ? On one or other of such grounds he 
thinks he need not change his religion ; but presently he asks 
himself, can a Protestant be in such a state as to be really satisfied 
with his religion, as he has just now been professing? Can he 
possibly believe Protestantism came from above as a whole? 
how much of it can he believe came from above? and, as to that 
portion which he feels did come from above, has it not all been 
derived to him from the Church, when traced to its source? Is 



How Men really Reason in Concrete Matters. 



Si 



not Protestantism in itself a negation? Did not the Church exist 
before it? and can he be sure, on the other hand, that any one of 
the Church's doctrines is not from above? Further, he finds he 
has to make up his mind what is a corruption, and what are the 
tests of it ; what he means by a religion ; whether it is obligatory 
to profess any religion in particular ; what are the standards of 
truth and falsehood in religion ; and what are the special claims 
of the Church. 

And so, again, as to the minor premises perhaps he will 
answer, that he is not a Protestant ; that he is a Catholic of the 
early undivided Church ; that he is a Catholic, but not a Papist. 
Then he has to determine questions about division, schism, visible 
unity, what is essential, what is desirable ; about provisional 
states ; as to the adjustment of the Church's claims with those of 
personal judgment and responsibility ; as to the soul of the Church 
contrasted with the body ; as to degrees of proof, and the degree ne- 
cessary for his conversion ; as to what is called his providential po- 
sition, and the responsibility of change ; as to the sincerity of his 
purpose to follow the Divine Will, whithersoever it may lead him ; 
as to his intellectual capacity of investigating such questions at 
all. 

None of these questions, as they come before him, admit of 
simple demonstration ; but each carries with it a number of inde- 
pendent probable arguments, sufficient, when united, for a reason- 
able conclusion about itself. And first he determines that the 
questions are such as he personally, with such talents or attain- 
ments as he has, may fairly entertain ; and then he goes on, after 
deliberation, to form a definite judgment upon them ; and deter- 
mines them, one way or another, in their bearing on the bald syl- 
logism which was originally offered to his acceptance. And, we 
will say, he comes to the conclusion, that he ought to accept it 
as true in his case ; that he is a Protestant in such a sense, of such 
a complexion, of such knowledge, under such circumstances, as 
to be called upon by duty to join the Church ; that this is a con- 
clusion of which he can be certain, and ought to be certain, and 
that he will be incurring grave responsibility, if he does not ac- 
cept it as certain, and act upon the certainty of it. And to this 
conclusion he comes, as is plain, not by any possible verbal enu- 
meration of all the considerations, minute but abundant, delicate 
but effective, which unite to bring him to it ; but by a mental 



82 



Philosophical. 



comprehension ci the whole case, and a discernment of its up-, 
she:, sometimes after much deliberation, but, it may be, by a clear 
ana rami act of the intellect, always, however, by a:; unwritten 
summing-up, something like the summation of the terms of an 
algebraical series. (" Grammar of Assent," p. 2S1.) 



en.) 

This is the mode in which we ordinarily reason dealing with 
things directly, and as they stand, one by one, in the concrete, 
with an intrinsic and personal power, not a conscious adoption of 
an artificial instrument or expedient ; anditis especially exempli- 
fied both in uneducated men, and in men of genius — in those who 
know nothing of intellectual ends and rules, and in those 
who care nothing for them — in those who are either with- 
out or above mental discipline. As true poetry is a spon- 
taneous outpouring of thought, and therefore belongs to 
rude as well as to gifted minis, whereas no one becomes a poet 
merely by the canons of criticism, so this unscientific reasoning, 
being sometimes a natural, uncultivated faculty, sometimes ap- 
proaching to a gift, sometimes an acquired habit and second 
nature, has a higher source than logical rule — " nascitur, non fit.*' 
When it is characterized by precision, subtlety, promptitude, and 
truth, it is of course a gift and a rarity : in ordinary minds it is 
biassed and degraded by prejudice, passion, and self-interest ; but 
still, after all, this divination comes by nature, and belongs to all 
of us in a measure, to women more than to men, hitting or miss- 
ing, as the case may be, but with a success on the whole sufficient 
to show that there is a method in it, though it be implicit. 

A peasant who is weather-wise may be simply unable to assign 
intelligible reasons why he thinks it will be fine to-morrow, and 
if he attempts to do so he may give reasons wide of the mark ; 
but that will not weaken his own confidence in his prediction. 
His mind does not proceed step by step, but he feels all at once 
the force of various combined phenomena, though he is not con- 
scious of them. Again, there are ph} T sicians who excel in the 
diagnosis of complaints : though it does not follow from this, that 
thev could defend their decision in a particular case against a 



How Men really Reason in Concrete Mailers. 



83 



Drother physician who disputed it. They are guided by natural 
acuteness and varied experience ; they have their own idiosyn- 
cratic modes of observing, generalizing, and concluding ; when 
questioned, they can but rest on their own authority, or appeal to 
the future event. In a popular novel* a lawyer is introduced who 
" would know, almost by instinct, whether an accused person was 
or was not guilty ; and he had already perceived by instinct M 
that the heroine was guilty. u I've no doubt she's a clever wo* 
man," he said, and at once named an attorney practising at the 
Old Bailey. So, again, experts and detectives, when employed 
to investigate mysteries, in cases whether of the civil or criminal 
law, discern and fellow out indications which promise solution 
with a sagacity incomprehensible to ordinary men. A parallel 
gift is the intuitive perception of character possessed by certain 
men, while others are as destitute of it, as others again are of an 
ear for music. What common measure is there between the 
judgments of those who have this intuition, and those who have 
not? What but the event can settle any difference of opinion 
with which they regard a third person? These are instances of a 
natural capacity, or of nature improved by practice and habit, 
enabling the mind to pass promptly from one set of facts to 
another, not only, I say, without conscious media, but without 
conscious antecedents. 

Sometimes, I say, this illative faculty is nothing short of genius. 
Such seems to have been Newton's perception of truths mathema- 
tical and physical, though proof was absent. At least that is 
the impression left on my own mind by various stories which are 
told of him, one of which was stated in the public papers a few 
years ago. " Professor Sylvester,'" it was said, "has just dis- 
covered the proof of Sir Isaac Newton's rule for ascertaining the 
imaginary roots of equations. . . . This rule has been a 
Gordian knot among algebraists for the last century and a half. 
The proof being wanting, authors became ashamed at length of 
advancing a proposition, the evidence for which rested on no other 
foundation than belief in Newton's sagacity."! 

Such is the gift of the calculating boys who now and then make 
their appearance, who seem to have certain short cuts to con- 
clusions which they cannot explain to themselves. Some are 



* M Orley Farm,' 1 



t Guardian^ June 28, 1865. 



8 4 



Philosophical. 



said to have been able to determine off-hand what numbers are 
prime — numbers, I think, up to seven places. 

In a very different subject-matter, Napoleon supplies us with an 
instance of a parallel genius in reasoning, by which he was 
enabled to look at things in his own province, and to interpret 
them truly, apparently without any ratiocinative media. " By long 
experience," says Alison, u joined to great natural quickness and 
precision of eye, he had acquired the power of judging, with 
extraordinary accuracy, both of the amount of the enemy's force 
opposed to him in the field, and the probable result of the move- 
ments, even the most complicated, going forward in the opposite 
armies. . . . He looked around him for a little while with his 
telescope, and instantly formed a clear conception of the position, 
forces, and intention of the whole hostile array. In this way he 
could, with surprising accuracy, calculate in a few minutes, 
according to what he could see of their formation and the extent 
of the ground which they occupied, the numerical force of armies 
of 60,000 or 80,000 men ; and if their troops were at all scattered, 
he knew at once how long it would require for them to concen- 
trate, and how many hours must elapse before they could make 
their attack."* 

It is difficult to avoid calling such clear presentiments by the 
name of instinct ; and I think they may be so called, if by instinct 
be understood, not a natural sense, one and the same in all, and in- 
capable of cultivation, but a perception of facts without assignable 
media of perceiving. There are those who can tell at once what is 
conducive or injurious to their welfare, who are their friends, who 
their enemies, what is to happen to them, and how they are to 
meet it. Presence of mind, fathoming of motives, talent for re- 
partee, are instances of this gift. As to that divination of personal 
danger which is found in the young and innocent, we find a de- 
scription of it in one of Scott*s romances, in which the heroine, 
"without being able to discover what was wrong either in the 
scenes of unusual luxury with which she was surrounded, or in 
the manner of her hostess," is said nevertheless to have felt "an 
instinctive apprehension that all was not right — a feeling in the 
human mind," the author proceeds to say, " allied perhaps to that 
sense of danger which animals exhibit when placed in the vicinity 



* History, vol. x. pp. 286", 287. 



How Men really Reason in Concrete Matters, 85 

of the natural enemies of their race, and which makes birds 
cower when the hawk is in the air, and beasts tremble when the 
tiger is abroad in the desert." * 

A religious biography, lately published, affords us an instance 
of this spontaneous perception of truth in the province of revealed 
doctrine. " Her firm faith," says the Author of the Preface, " was 
so vivid in its character, that it was almost like an intuition of the 
entire prospect of revealed truth. Let an error against faith be 
concealed under expressions however abstruse, and her sure in- 
stinct found it out. I have tried this experiment repeatedly. She 
might not be able to separate the heresy by analysis, but she saw, 
and felt, and suffered from its presence." f 

And so of the great fundamental truths of religion, natural and 
revealed, and as regards the mass of religious men : these truths, 
doubtless, may be proved and defended by an array of invincible 
logical arguments, but such is not commonly the method in which 
they make their way into our minds. The grounds, on which we 
hold the divine origin of the Church, and the previous truths 
which are taught us by nature — the being of a God, and the immor- 
tality of the soul — are felt by most men to be recondite and im 
palpable, in proportion to their depth and reality. As we cannot 
see ourselves, so we cannot well see intellectual motives which 
are so intimately ours, and which spring up from the very consti- 
tution of our minds ; and while we refuse to admit the notion that 
religion has not irrefragable arguments in its behalf, still the at- 
tempts to argue, in the case of an individual kicet nunc, will some- 
times only confuse his apprehension of sacred objects, and sub 
tracts from his devotion quite as much as it adds to his know- 
ledge. 

This is found in the case of other perceptions besides that of 
faith. It is the case of nature against art : of course, if possible, 
nature and art should be combined, but sometimes they are in- 
compatible. Thus, in the case of calculating boys, it is said, I 
know not with what truth, that to teach them the ordinary rules 
of arithmetic is to endanger or to destroy the extraordinary endow- 
ment. And men who have the gift of playing on an instrument 
by ear, are sometimes afraid to learn by rule, lest they should 
lose it. 

♦"Peveril of the Peak." 

t " life of Mother Margaret M. Hallahan," p. vii. 



86 



Philosophical, 



There is an analogy, in this respect, between Ratiocination and 
Memory, though the latter maybe exercised without antecedents 
or media, whereas the former require? them in its very idea. At 
the same time association has so much to do with memory, that 
we may not unfairly consider that memory, as well as reasoning, 
depends on certain conditions. Writing is a mtmoria tecknica, or 
logic of memory. Now it will be found, I think, that, indispensa- 
ble as is the use of letters, still, in fact, we weaken our memory in 
proportion as we habituate ourselves to commit all that we wish 
to remember to memorandums. Of course, in proportion as our 
memory is weak or overburdened, and thereby treacherous, we can- 
not help ourselves ; but in the case of men of strong memory, in 
any particular subject-matter, as in that of dates, ail artificial ex- 
pedients, from the l ' Thirty days has September,"' etc., to the more 
formidable formulas in use, are as difficult and repulsive as the 
natural exercise of memory is healthy and easy to them ; just as 
the clear-headed and practical reasoner, who sees conclusions at 
a glance, is uncomfortable under the drill of a logician, being 
oppressed and hampered, as David in Saul's armor, by what is in- 
tended to be a benefit. 

I need not say more on this part of the subject. What is called 
reasoning is often only a peculiar and personal mode of abstrac- 
tion, and so far, like memory, may be said to exist without ante- 
cedents. It is a power of looking at things in some particular 
aspect, and of determining their internal and external relations 
thereby. And according to the subtlety and versatility of their 
gift, are men able to read what comes before them justly, vari- 
ously, and fruitfully. Hence, too, it is that in our intercourse 
with others, in business and family matters, social and political 
transactions, a word or an acton the part of another is sometimes 
a sudden revelation ; light breaks in upon us, and our whole 
judgment of a course of events, or of an undertaking, is changed. 
We determine correctly, or otherwise, as it may be ; but in either 
case, by a sense proper to ourselves, for another may see the ob- 
jects which we are thus using, and give them quite a different in- 
terpretation, inasmuch as he abstracts another set of general 
notions from those same phenomena which present themselves to 
lis. ( f< Grammar of Assent," p. 524.; 



The Laws of the Mind. 



37 



INTELLECTUAL OBSTRUCTIONS. 

As even saints may suffer from imaginations in which they have 
part, so the shreds and tatters of former controversies, and the 
litter of an argumentative habit, may beset and obstruct the intel- 
lect — questions which have been solved without their solutions, 
chains of reasoning with missing links, difficulties which have 
their roots in the nature of things, and which are necessarily left 
behind in a philosophical enquiry because they cannot be re- 
moved, and which call for the exercise of good sense and for 
strength of will to put them down with a high hand, as irrational 
or preposterous. Whence comes evil ? why are we created with 
out our consent? how can the Supreme Being have no begin- 
ning? how can He need skill, if He is Omnipotent? if He is Om- 
nipotent, why does He permit suffering? if He permits suffering, 
how is He all-loving? if He is all-loving, how can He be just? if 
he is infinite, what has He to do with the finite ? how can the tem- 
porary be decisive of the eternal ? — these, and a host of like ques- 
tions, must arise in every thoughtful mind, and, after the best use 
of reason, must be deliberately put aside, as beyond reason, as 
(so to speak) no-thoroughfares, which, having no outlet themselves, 
have no legitimate power to divert us from the King's highway, 
and to hinder the direct course of religious enquiry from reaching 
its destination. A serious obstruction, however, they will be now 
and then to particular minds, enfeebling the faith which they can- 
not destroy — being parallel to the uncomfortable association with 
which we regard one whom we have fallen in with, acquaint- 
ance or stranger, arising from some chance word, look, or action 
of his which we have witnessed and which prejudices him in our 
imagination, though we are angry with ourselves that it should do 
so. (" Grammar of Assent," p. 210.) 



THE LAWS OF THE MIND THE EXPRESSION OF THE 
DIVINE WILL. 

As the structure of the universe speaks to us of Him who made 
it, so the laws of the mind are the expression, not of mere consti- 
tuted order, but of His will. I should be bound by them even 



88 



Philosophical, 



were they not His laws ; but since one of their very functions is to 
tell me of Him, they throw a reflex light upon themselves, and, 
for resignation to my destiny, I substitute a cheerful concurrence 
in an overruling Providence. We may gladly welcome such diffi 
culties as there are in our mental constitution, and in the inter- 
action of our faculties, if we are able to feel that He gave them to 
us, and He can overrule them for us. We may securely take 
them as they are, and use them as we find them. It is He who 
teaches us all knowledge; and the way by which we acquire it is 
His way. He varies that way according to the subject-matter; 
but whether He has set before us in our particular pursuit the 
way of observation or of experiment, of speculation or of research, 
of demonstration or of probability, whether we are enquiring into 
the system of the universe, or into the elements of matter and of 
life, or into the history of human society and past times, if we take 
the way proper to our subject-matter, we have His blessing upon 
us, and shall find, besides abundant matter for mere opinion, the 
materials in due measure of proof and assent. 

And especially, by this disposition of things, shall we learn, as 
regards religious and ethical enquiries, how little we can effect, 
however much we exert ourselves, without that blessing ; for, as 
if on set purpose, He has made this path of thought rugged and 
circuitous above other investigations, that the very discipline in- 
flicted on our minds in finding Him, may mould them into due 
devotion to Him when He is found. " Verily, Thou art a hidden 
God, the God of Israel, the Saviour," is the very law of his deal- 
ings with us. Certainly we need a clue into the labyrinth which 
is to lead us to Him ; and who among us can hope to seize upon 
the true starting-points of thought for that enterprise, and upon 
all of them, to understand their right direction, to follow them out 
to their just limits, and duly to estimate, adjust, and combine the 
various reasonings in which they issue, so as safely to arrive at 
what is worth any labor to secure, without a special illumination 
from Himself? Such are the dealings of Wisdom with the elect 
soul. u She will bring upon him fear, and dread, and trial ; and 
She will torture him with the tribulation of Her discipline, till she 
try him by Her laws, and trust his soul. Then she will strengthen 
him, and make Her way straight to him, and give him joy." 
(" Grammar of Assent," p. 344.) 



First Prificiples* 



89 



FIRST PRINCIPLES. 

This is what we call an enlightened age ; we are to have large 
views of things ; everything is to be put on a philosophical basis ; 
reason is to rule ; the world is to begin again ; a new and trans- 
porting set of views is about to be exhibited to the great human 
family. Well and good; have them, preach them, enjoy them, 
but deign to recollect the while, that there have been views in the 
world before you ; that the world has not been going on up to 
this day without any principles whatever; that the Old Religion 
was based on principles, and that it is not enough to flourish about 
your " new lamps," if you would make us give up our M old " 
ones. Catholicism, I say, had its First Principles before you were 
born ; you say they are false ; very well, prove them to be so ; 
they are false, indeed, if yours are true ; but not false merely be- 
cause yours are yours. While yours are yours it is self-evident, 
indeed, to you, that ours are false ; but it is not the common way 
of earning on business in the world, to value English goods by 
French measures, or to pay a debt in paper which was contracted 
in gold. Catholicism has its First Principles. Overthrow them, 
if you can ; endure them, if you cannot. It is not enough to call 
them effete, because they are old, or antiquated, because they are 
ancient. It is not enough to look into our Churches, and cry, 
" It is all a form, because divine favor cannot depend on external 
observances or, " It is all a bondage, because there is no such 
thing as sin ; or, " a blasphemy, because the Supreme Being cannot 
be present in ceremonies or, " a mummery, because sprayer can- 
not move Him ; * or, " a tyranny, because vows are unnatural ; w or 
"hypocrisy, because no rational man can credit it at all?" I say 
here is endless assumption, unmitigated hypothesis, reckless as- 
sertion. Prove your, "because," ''because," " because;" prove 
your Fiist Principles, and if you cannot, learn philosophic mode- 
ration. Why may not my First Principles contest the prize with 
yours? they have been longer in the world, they have lasted 
longer, they have done harder work, they have seen rougher ser- 
vice ! You sit in your easy-chairs, you dogmatize in your lecture* 
rooms, you wield your pens : it all looks well on paper: you 
write exceedingly well : there never was an age in which there 
was better writing, logical, nervous, eloquent, and pure, — go and 
carry it all out in the world. Take your First Principles, of which 



9 o 



Philosophical. 



you are so proud, into the crowded streets of our cities, into tha 
formidable classes which make up the bulk of our population* 
try to work society by them. You think you can ; I say you can- 
not — at least, you have not as yet ; it is to be seen if you can. 
11 Let not him that putteth on his armor boast as he who taketh it 
off." Do not take it for granted that that is certain which is wait- 
ing the test of reason and experiment. Be modest until you are 
victorious. My principles, which I believe to be eternal, have at 
least lasted eighteen hundred years ; let yours live as many months. 
That man can sin, that he has duties, that the Divine Being hears 
prayer, that He gives His favors through visible ordinances, that 
He is really present in the midst of them — these principles have 
been the life of nations ; they have shown they could be carried 
out ; let any single nation carry out yours, and you will have bet- 
ter claim to speak contemptuously of Catholic rites, of Catholic 
devotions, of Catholic belief. ( u Present Position of Catholics," 
P. 293.) 



THE ETHICS OF CULTURE. 
(I.) 

The embellishment of the exterior is almost the beginning and 
the end of philosophical morality. This is why it aims at being 
modest rather than humble ; this is how it can be proud at the 
very time that it is unassuming. To humility indeed it does not 
even aspire ; humility is one of the most difficult of virtues, both 
to attain and to ascertain. It lies close upon the heart itself, and 
its tests are exceedingly delicate and subtle. Its counterfeits 
abound ; however, we are little concerned with them here, for, I 
repeat, it is hardly professed, even by name, in the code of ethics 
which we are reviewing. As has been often observed, ancient 
civilization had not the idea, and had no word to express it ; or 
rather, it had the idea, and considered it a defect of mind, not a 
virtue, so that the word which denoted it conveyed a reproach. As 
to the modern world, you may gather its ignorance of it by its per- 
version of the somewhat parallel term " condescension." Humiii* 



The Ethics of Culture. 



9i 



ty, or condescension, viewed as a virtue of conduct, may be said 
to consist, as in other things, so in our placing ourselves in out 
thoughts on a level with our inferiors. It is not only a voluntary 
relinquishment of the privileges of our own station, but an actual 
participation or assumption of the condition of those to whom we 
stoop. This is true humility, to feel and to behave as if we were 
low ; not to cherish a notion of our importance while we affect a 
low position. Such was St. Paul's humility, when he called him^ 
self M the least of the saints ; " such the humility of those many 
holy men who have considered themselves the greatest of sin- 
ners. It is an abdication, as far as their own thoughts are con- 
cerned, of those prerogatives or privileges to which others deem 
them entitled. Now it is not a little instructive to contrast with 
this idea — with this theological meaning of the word " condescen- 
sion" — its proper English sense ; put them into juxtaposition, 
and you will at once see the difference between the world's humili- 
ty and the humility of the Gospel. As the world uses the word, 
" condescension v is a stooping indeed of the person, but a bend- 
ing forward unattended with any the slightest effort to leave by a 
single inch the seat in which it is so firmly established. It is the 
act of a superior, who protests to himself, while he commits it, 
that he is superior still, and that he is doing nothing else but an 
act of grace towards those on whose level, in theory, he is placing 
himself. And this is the nearest idea which the philosopher can 
form of the virtue of self-abasement ; to do more than this is, to 
his mind, a meanness, or an hypocrisy, and at once excites his 
suspicion and disgust. What the world is, such it has ever been ; 
we know the contempt which the educated pagans had for the 
martyrs and confessors of the Church, and it is shared by the 
anti-Catholic bodies of this day. 

Such are the ethics of Philosophy, when faithfully represented ; 
but an age like this, not pagan, but professedly Christian, cannot 
venture to reprobate humility in set terms, or to make a boast of 
pride. Accordingly, it looks out for some expedient by which it 
may blind itself to the real state of the case. Humility, with its 
grave and self-denying attributes, it cannot love; but what is 
more beautiful, what more winning, than modesty? What virtue, 
at first sight, simulates humility so well? Though what, in fact, 
is more radically distinct from it? In truth, great as is its charm, 
modesty is not the deepest or the most religious of virtues. 



92 



Philosophical. 



Rather it is the advanced guard or sentinel of the soul militant, 
and watches continually over its nascent intercourse with tha 
world about it. It goes the round of the senses ; it mounts up 
into the countenance ; it protects the eye and ear ; it reigns in the 
voice and gesture. Its province is the outward deportment, as 
other virtues have relation to matters theological, others to 
society, and others to the mind itself. And being more superfi- 
cial than other virtues, it is more easily disjoined from their com- 
pany ; it admits of being associated with principles or qualities 
naturally foreign to it, and is often made the cloak of feelings or 
ends for which it was never given to us. So little is it the neces- 
sary index of humility, that it is even compatible with pride. The 
better for the purpose of philosophy ; humble it cannot be, so 
forthwith modesty becomes its humility. 

Pride, under such training, instead of running to waste in the 
education of the mind, is turned to account ; it gets a new name ; 
it is called self-respect, and ceases to be the disagreeable, uncom- 
panionable quality which it is in itself. Though it be the motive 
principle of the soul, it seldom comes to view ; and when it shows 
itself, then delicacy and gentleness are its attire, and good sense 
and sense of honor direct its motions. It is no longer a restless 
agent without definite aim ; it has a large field of exertion as- 
signed to it, and it subserves those social interests which it would 
naturally trouble. It is directed into the channel of industry, 
frugality, honesty, and obedience ; and it becomes the very staple 
of the religion and morality held in honor in a day like our own. 
It becomes the safeguard of chastity, the guarantee of veracity, in 
high and low; it is the very household god of society, as at 
present constituted, inspiring neatness and decency in the ser- 
vant-girl ; propriety of carriage and refined manners in her mis- 
tress ; uprightness, manliness, and generosity in the head of the 
family. It diffuses a light over town and country ; it covers the 
soil with handsome edifices and smiling gardens ; it tills the field, 
it stocks and embellishes the shop. It is the stimulating princi- 
ple of providence on the one hand, and of free expenditure on 
the other ; of an honorable ambition, and of elegant enjoyment. 
It breathes upon the face of the community, and the hollow se- 
pulchre is forthwith beautiful to look upon. 

Refined by the civilization which has brought it into activity, 
this self-respect infuses into the mind an intense horror of expo- 



The Ethics of Culture, 



93 



sure, and a keen sensitiveness of notoriety and ridicule. It 
becomes the enemy of extravagances of any kind ; it shrinks from 
what are called scenes ; it has no mercy on the mock-heroic, on 
pretence or egotism, on verbosity in language, or what is called 
prosiness in conversation. It detests gross adulation ; not that it 
tends at all to the eradication of the appetite to which the flatterer 
ministers, but it sees the absurdity of indulging it, it understands 
the annoyance thereby given to others, and if a tribute must be 
paid to the wealthy or the powerful, it demands greater subtlety 
and art in the preparation. Thus vanity is changed into a more 
dangers-s self-conceit, as being checked in its natural eruption. 
It teaches men to suppress their feelings and to control their 
tempers, and to mitigate both the severity and the tone of their 
judgments. It prefers playful wit and satire in putting down 
what is objectionable, as a more refined and good-natured, as well 
as a more effectual method, than the expedient which is natural 
to uneducated minds. It is from this impatience of the tragic and 
the bombastic that it is now quietly but energetically opposing it- 
self to the unchristian practice of duelling, which it brands as 
simply out of taste, and as the remnant of a barbarous age ; and 
certainly it seems likely to effect what Religion has aimed at 
abolishing in vain. 

(no 

Hence it is that it is almost a definition of a gentleman to say 
he is one who never inflicts pain. This description is both refined 
and, as far as it goes, accurate. He is mainly occupied in merely 
removing the obstacles which hinder the free and unembarrassed 
action of those about him ; and he concurs with their movements 
rather than takes the initiative himself. His benefits may be con- 
sidered as parallel to what are called comforts or conveniences in 
arrangements of a personal nature: like an easy-chair or a good 
fire, which do their part in dispelling cold and fatigue, though 
nature provides both means of rest and animal heat without them. 
The true gentleman in like manner carefully avoids whatever may 
cause a jar or a jolt in the minds of those with whom he is cast ; 
all clashing of opinion, or collision of feeling, all restraint, or sus- 
picion, or gloom, or resentment ; his great concern being to make 
every one at their ease and at home. He has his eyes on all his 



94 



Philosophical. 



company ; he is tender towards the bashful, gentle towards the 
distant, and merciful towards the absurd ; he can recollect to 
whom he is speaking ; he guards against unseasonable allu- 
sions or topics which may irritate ; he is seldom prominent in 
conversation, and never wearisome. He makes light of favors 
while he does them, and seems to be receiving when he is con- 
ferring. He never speaks of himself except when compelled, 
never defends himself by a mere retort ; he has no ears for 
slander or gossip, is scrupulous in imputing motives to those who 
interfere with him, and interprets everything for the best. He is 
never mean or little in his disputes, never takes unfair advantage, 
never mistakes personalities or sharp sayings for arguments, or 
insinuates evil which he dare not say out. From a long-sighted 
prudence, he observes the maxim of the ancient sage, that we 
should ever conduct ourselves towards our enemy as if he were 
one day to be our friend. He has too much good sense to be 
affronted at insults, he is too well employed to remember injuries, 
and too indolent to bear malice. He is patient, forbearing, and 
resigned, on philosophical principles ; he submits to pain, because 
it is inevitable, to bereavement, because it is irreparable, and to 
death, because it is his destiny. If he engages in controversy of 
any kind, his disciplined intellect preserves him from the blunder- 
ing discourtesy of better, perhaps, but less educated minds, who, 
like blunt weapons, tear and hack instead of cutting clean, who 
mistake the point in argument, waste their strength on trifles, 
misconceive their adversary, and leave the question more in- 
volved than they find it. He may be right or wrong in his opi- 
nion, but he is too clear-headed to be unjust; he is as simple as 
he is forcible, and as brief as he is decisive. Nowhere shall we 
find greater candor, consideration, indulgence ; he throws him- 
self into the minds of his opponents, he accounts for their mis 
takes. He knows the weakness of human reason as well as its 
strength, its province and its limits. If he be an unbeliever, he 
will be too profound and large-minded to ridicule religion or to 
act against it ; he is too wise to be a dogmatist or fanatic in his 
infidelity. He respects piety and devotion; he even supports in- 
stitutions as venerable, beautiful, or useful, to which he does not 
assent ; he honors the ministers of religion, and it contents him 
to decline its mysteries without assailing or denouncing them. 
He is a friend of religious toleration, and that, not only because 



Culture and Vice. 



95 



his philosophy has taught him to look on all forms of faith with 
an impartial eye, but also from the gentleness and effeminacy of 
feeling, which is the attendant on civilization, 

Not that he may not hold a religion too, in his own way, even 
when he is not a Christian. In that case his religion is one of 
imagination and sentiment ; it is the embodiment of those ideas 
of the sublime, majestic, and beautiful, without which there can 
be no large philosophy. Sometimes he acknowledges the being 
of God, sometimes he invests an unknown principle or quality 
with the attributes of perfection. And this deduction of his 
reason, or creation of his fancy, he makes the occasion of such 
excellent thoughts, and the starting-point of so varied and syste- 
matic a teaching, that he even seems like a disciple of Christianity 
itself. From the very accuracy and steadiness of his logical 
powers, he is able to see what sentiments are consistent in those 
who hold any religious doctrine at all, and he appears to others to 
feel and to hold a whole circle of theological truths, which 
exist in his mind no otherwise than as a number of deduc- 
tions. 

Such are some of the lineaments of the ethical character, which 
the cultivated intellect will form, apart from religious principle. 
( 4t Idea of a University," p. 204.) 



CULTURE AND VICE. 

I spoke just now of the scorn and hatred which a cultivated 
mind feels for some kinds of vice, and the utter disgust and pro- 
found humiliation which may come over it, if it should happen in 
any degree to be betrayed into them. Now this feeling may have 
its root in faith and love, but it may not ; there is nothing really 
religious in it, considered by itself. Conscience indeed is im- 
planted in the breast by nature, but it inflicts upon us fear as well 
as shame ; when the mind is simply angry with itself and nothing 
more, surely the true import of the voice of nature and the depth 
of its intimations have been forgotten, and a false philosophy has 



9 6 



Philosophical* 



misinterpreted emotions which ought to lead to God. Fear im- 
plies the transgression of a law, and a law implies a lawgiver and 
judge ; but the tendency of intellectual culture is to swallow up 
the fear in the self-reproach, and self-reproach is directed and 
limited to our mere sense of what is fitting and becoming. Fear 
carries us out of ourselves, shame confines us within the round of 
our own thoughts. Such, I say, is the danger which awaits a civ- 
ilized age; such is its besetting sin (not inevitable, God forbid ! 
or we must abandon the use of God's own gifts), but still the ordi- 
nary sin of the Intellect; conscience' becomes what is called a 
moral sense ; the command of duty is a sort of taste ; sin is not 
an offence against God, but against human nature. 

The less amiable specimens of this spurious religion are those 
which we meet not unfrequently in my own country, I can use 
with all my heart the poet's words, 

" England, with all thy faults, I love thee still" ; 

but to those faults no Catholic can be blind. We find these men 
possessed of many virtues, but proud, bashful, fastidious, and 
reserved. Why is this? it is because they think and act if there 
were really nothing objective in their religion ; it is because con- 
science to them is not the word of a lawgiver, as it ought to be, 
but the dictate of their own minds and nothing more ; it is because 
they do not look out of themselves, because they do not look 
through and beyond their own minds to their Maker, but are en- 
grossed in notions of what is due to themselves, to their own 
dignity, and their own consistency. Their conscience has become 
a mere self-respect. Instead of doing one thing and then another, 
as each is called for, in faith and obedience, careless of what may 
be called the keeping of deed with deed, and leaving Him who 
gives the command to blend the portions of their conduct into a 
whole, their one object, however unconscious to themselves, is to 
->aint a smooth and perfect surface, and to be able to say to them- 
elves that they have done their duty. When they do wrong, 
they feel, not contrition, of which God is the object, but remorse, 
and a sense of degradation. They call themselves fools, not 
sinners; they are angry and impatient, not humble. They shut 
themselves up in themselves; it is misery to them to think or to 
speak of their own feelings; it is misery to suppose that others 



The World's Philosophy of Religion. 



see them, and their shyness and sensitiveness often become mor 
bid. As to confession, which is so natural to the Catholic, to 
them it is impossible ; unless, indeed, in cases where they have 
been guilty, an apology is due to their own character, is expected 
of them, and will be satisfactory to look back upon. They are 
victims of an intense self-contemplation. ("Idea of a University," 
p. 191.) 



THE WORLD'S PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION. 

The world considers that all men are pretty much on a level, 
or that, differ though they may, they differ by such fine shades 
from each other, that it is impossible, because it would be untrue 
and unjust, to divide them into two bodies, or to divide them at 
all. Each man is like himself and no one else ; each man has his 
own opinions, his own rule of faith and conduct, his own wor- 
ship ; if a number join together in a religious form, this is an acci- 
dent, for the sake of convenience ; for each is complete in him- 
self; religion is simply a personal concern; there is no such 
thing really as a common or joint religion, that is, one in which a 
number of men, strictly speaking, partake ; it is all matter of 
private judgment. Hence, as men sometimes proceed even to 
avow, there is no such thing as a true religion or a false ; that is 
true to each, which each sincerely believes to be true ; and what 
is true to one, is not true to his neighbor. There are no special 
doctrines necessary to be believed in order to salvation ; it is not 
very difficult to be saved ; and most men may take it for granted 
that they shall be saved. All men are in God's favor, except so 
far as, and while, they commit acts of sin ; but when the sin is over 
they get back into His favor again, naturally, and as a thing of 
course, no one knows how, owing to God's infinite indulgence, 
unless indeed they persevere and die in a course of sin, and per- 
haps even then. There is no such place as hell, or at least pun- 
ishment is not eternal. Predestination, election, grace, perseve- 
rance, faith, sanctity, unbelief, and reprobation are strange ideas, 
and, as they think, very false ones. This is the cast of opinion of 



FhHbsopkketl. 



men in general, in proportion as they exercise their minds on the 
subject d£ religion, and think foi themselves; and if in any re- 
spect they depart from the easy, cheerful, and tranquil temper of 
mind which it expresses, it is when they are led to think of those 
who presume to take the contrary view, that is, who take the vie v 
set forth by Christ and His Apostles. On these they are com- 
monly severe, that is, on the very persons whom God acknow- 
ledges as His, and is training heavenward — on Catholics, who 
are the witnesses and preachers of those awful doctrines ol 
grace, which condemn the world, and which the world cannot en 
dure. 

In truth the world does not know of the existence of grace ; nor 
is it wonderful, for it is ever contented with itself, and has nevei 
turned to account the supernatural aids bestowed upon it. Its 
highest idea of man lies in the order of nature ; its pattern man is 
the natural man ; it thinks it wrong to be anything else than a 
natural man. I: sees that nature has a number of tendencies, im 
durations, and passions ; and because these are natural, it thinks 
that each of them may be indulged for its own sake, so far as it 
d:es no harm to others, or to a person ; y, mental, and tem- 

poral well-being. It considers that want of moderation, or excess, 
is the very definition of sin, if it goes so far as to recognize that 
word. It thinks that he is the perfect man who eats, and drinks, 
and sleeps, and walks, and diverts himself, and studies, and 
writes, and attends to religion in moderation. The devotional 
feeling, and the intellect, and the flesh, have each its claim upon 
us. and each must have play, if the Creator is to be duly 
honored. 

It does not understand, it will not admit, that impulses and 
propensities which are found in our nature, as God created it, 
may nevertheless, if indulged, become sins, on the ground that 
He his subjected them to higher principles, whether these princi- 
ples be in our nature, or be superadded to our nature. Hence it 
is very slow to believe that evil thoughts are really displeasing to 
God, and in:ur punishment. Works, indeed, tangible actions, 
which are seen and which have influence, it will allow to be 
lg; but it wfll not believe even that deeds are sinful, or that 
they are more than reprehensible, it they are private or personal ; 
and it is blind utterly to the malice of thoughts, of imaginations, 
of wishes, and of words. Because the wild emotions of anger,. 



The World's Philosophy of Religion. 



99 



desire, greediness, craft, cruelty, are no sin in the brute cieation, 
which has neither the means nor the command to repress them 
therefore they are no sins in a being who has a diviner sense and 
a controlling power. Concupiscence may be indulged, because 
it is in its first elements natural. 

Behold here the true origin and fountain-head of the warfare 
between the Church and the world ; here they join issue, and 
diverge from each other. The Church is built upon the doctrine 
that impurity is hateful to God, and that concupiscence is its 
root ; with the Prince of the Apostles, her visible Head, she de- 
nounces "the corruption of concupiscence which is in the world/' 
or, that corruption in the world which comes of concupiscence ; 
whereas the corrupt world defends, nay, I may even say, sancti- 
fies that very concupiscence which is the world's corruption. Its 
bolder and more consistent teachers make the laws of this physical 
creation so supreme, as to disbelieve the existence of miracles, as 
being an unseemly violation of them ; and in like manner, it 
deifies and worships human nature and its impulses, and denies 
the power and the grant of grace. This is the source of the hatred 
which the world bears to the Church ; it finds a whole catalogue 
of sins brought into light and denounced, which it would fain 
believe to be no sins at all ; it finds itself, to its indignation and 
impatience, surrounded with sin, morning, noon, and night ; it 
finds that a stern law lies against it, where it believed that it was 
its own master and need not think of God ; it finds guilt ac- 
cumulating upon it hourly, which nothing can prevent, nothing 
remove, but a higher power, the grace of God. It finds itself in 
danger of being humbled to the earth as a rebel, instead of being 
allowed to indulge its self-dependence and self-complacency. 
Hence it takes its stand on nature, and denies or rejects divine 
grace. Like the proud spirit in the beginning, it wishes to find 
its supreme good in its own self, and nothing above it ; it under- 
takes to be sufficient for its own happiness ; it has no desire for 
the supernatural, and therefore does not believe in it. And as 
nature cannot rise above nature, it will not believe that the nar- 
row way is possible ; it hates those who enter upon it as if pre- 
tenders and hypocrites, or laughs at their aspirations as romance 
and fanaticism, lest it should have to believe in the existence of 
grace. (" Discourses to Mixed Congregations," p. 148.) 



10O 



Philosophical. 



THE DOCTRINE OF RETRIBUTIVE PUNISHMENT. 

I alluded just now to those who consider the doctrine of re- 
tributive punishment, or of divine vengeance, to be incompatible 
with the true religion ; but I do not see how they can maintain 
•.heir ground. In order to do so, they have first to prove that an 
act of vengeance must be sin in our own instance ; but even this 
is far from clear. Anger and indignation against cruelty and in- 
justice, resentment of injuries, desire that the false, the ungrateful, 
and the depraved should meet with punishment, these, if not in 
themselves virtuous feelings, are at least not vicious ; but, first, 
from the certainty that it will run into excess and become sin, and, 
next, because the office of punishment has not been committed to 
us ; and, further, because it is a feeling unsuitable to those who are 
themselves so laden with imperfection and guilt, therefore ven- 
geance, in itself allowable, is forbidden to us. These exceptions 
do not hold in the case of a perfect being, and certainly not in the 
instance of the Supreme Judge. Moreover, we see that even men 
have different duties, according to their personal qualifications 
and their positions in the community. The rule of morals is the 
same for all ; and yet, notwithstanding, what is right in one is not 
necessarily right in another. What would be a crime in a private 
man to do, is a crime in a magistrate not to have done: still wider 
is the difference between man and his Maker. Nor must it be 
forgotten, that . . retributive justice is the very attribute under 
which God is primarily brought before us in the teachings of our 
natural conscience. 

And further, we cannot determine the character of particular ac- 
tions till we have the whole case before us out of which they arise ; 
unless, indeed, they are in themselves distinctively vicious. We 
all feel the force of the maxim, " Audi alteram partem." It is 
difficult to trace the path and to determine the scope of Divine 
Providence. We read of a day when the Almighty will conde- 
scend to place His actions in their completeness before His crea- 
tures, and "will overcome when He is judged." If, till then, we 
feel it to be a duty to suspend our judgment concerning certain 
of His actions or precepts, we do no more than what we do every 
day in the case of an earthly friend or enemy, whose conduct in 
some point requires explanation. It surely is not too much to 
expect of us that we should act with parallel caution, and be 



The Doctrine of Retributive Punishment. 101 



11 memores conditionis nostrae" as regards the acts of our Creator. 
There is a poem of Parnell's which striking!)' brings home to us 
how differently the divine appointments will look in the light of 
day, from what they appear to be in our present twilight. An 
Angel, in disguise of a man, steals a golden cup, strangles an in- 
fant, and throws a guide into the stream, and explains to his hor- 
rified companion that acts which would be enormities in man are 
in him, as God's minister, deeds of merciful correction or of re- 
tribution. 

Moreover, when we are about to pass judgment on the dealings 
of Providence with other men, we shall do well to consider first 
His dealings with ourselves. We cannot know about others, 
about ourselves we do know something ; and we know that He 
has ever been good to us, and not severe. Is it not wise to 
argue from what we actually know, to what we do not know? It 
may turn out in the day of account that unforgiven souls, while 
charging His laws with injustice in the case of others, may be un- 
able to find fault with His dealings severally towards themselves. 

As to those various religions which, together with Christianity, 
teach the doctrine of eternal punishment, here again we ought, 
before we judge, to understand, not only the whole state of the 
case, but what is meant by the doctrine itself. Eternity, or end- 
lessness, is in itself only a negative idea, though punishment is 
positive. Its fearful force, as added to punishment, lies in what 
it is not ; it means no change of state, no annihilation, no re- 
storation. But it cannot become a quality of punishment, any 
more than a man's living seventy years is a quality of his mind, or 
enters into the idea of his virtues or talents. If punishment be 
attended by continuity, or by sense of succession, this must be 
because it is endless and something more ; such inflictions are 
an addition to its endlessness, and do not necessarily belong to 
it because it is endless. As I have already said, the great 
mystery is, not that evil has no end, but that it had a beginning. 
But I submit the whole subject to the Theological School. 
u Grammar of Assent," p. 414.) 



102 



Philosophical. 



WHAT IS THEOLOGY? 

Now what is Theology? First, I will tell you what it is not. 
And here, in the first place (though of course I speak on the sub* 
ject as a Catholic), observe that, strictly speaking, I am not as- 
suming that Catholicism is true, while I make myself the cham- 
pion of Theology. Catholicism has not formally entered into my 
argument hitherto, nor shall I just now assume any principle 
peculiar to it, for reasons which will appear in the sequel, though 
of course I shall use Catholic language. Neither, secondly, will 
I fall into the fashion of the day, of identifying Natural Theology 
with Physical Theology ; which said Physical Theology is a most 
jejune study, considered as a science, and really is no science at 
all, for it is ordinarily nothing more than a series of pious or 
polemical remarks upon the physical world viewed religiously, 
whereas the word M Natural " properly comprehends man and 
society, and all that is involved therein, as the great Protestant 
writer, Dr. Butler, shows us. Nor, in the third place, do I mean 
by Theology polemics of any kind ; for instance, what are called 
il the Evidences of Religion/' or " the Christian Evidences ; " for, 
though these constitute a science supplemental to Theology and 
are necessary in their place, they are not Theology itself, unless 
an army is synonymous with the body politic. Nor, fourthly, do 
I mean by Theology that vague thing called 11 Christianity," or 
"our common Christianity," or " Christianity the law of the land," 
if there is any man alive who can tell what it is. I discard it, for 
the very reason that it cannot throw itself into a proposition. 
Lastly, I do not understand by Theology acquaintance with the 
Scriptures ; for, though no person of religious feelings can read 
Scripture but he will find those feelings roused, and gain much 
knowledge of history into the bargain, yet historical reading and 
religious feeling are not science. I mean none of these things 
by Theology, I simply mean the Science of God, or the truths we 
know about God put into system ; just as we have a science of 
the stars, and call it astronomy, or of the crust of the earth, and 
call it geology 7 . 

For instance, I mean, for this is the main point, that, as in the 
human frame there is a living principle, acting upon it, and 
through it, by means of volition, so, behind the veil of the visible 
universe, there is an invisible, intelligent Being, acting on and 



What is Theology ? 



through it, as and when He will. Further, I mean that this ia 
visible Agent is in no sense a soul of the world, after the analogy 
of human nature, but, on the contrary, is absolutely distinct from 
the world, as being its Creator, Upholder, Governor, and Sover- 
eign Lord. Here we are at once brought into the circle of doc- 
trines which the idea of God embodies. I mean, then, by the 
Supreme Being, one who is simply self-dependent, and the only 
Being who is such ; moreover, that He is without beginning or 
Eternal, and the only Eternal ; that in consequence He has lived 
a whole eternity by Himself; and hence that He is all-sufficient, 
sufficient for His own blessedness, and all-blessed, and ever- 
blessed. Further, I mean a being, who, having these preroga- 
tives, has the Supreme Good, or rather is the Supreme Good, or 
has all the attributes of Good in infinite intenseness ; all wisdom, all 
truth, all justice, all love, all holiness, all beautifulness ; who is om- 
nipotent, omniscient, omnipresent ; ineffably one, absolutely per- 
fect ; and such, that what we do not know and cannot even ima- 
gine of Him, is far more wonderful than what we do and can. I 
mean One who is sovereign over His own will and actions, though 
always according to the eternal Rule of right and wrong, which is 
Himself. I mean, moreover, that He created all things out of 
nothing, and preserves them every moment, and could destroy 
them as easily as He made them ; and that, in consequence, He 
is separated from them by an abyss, and is incommunicable in all 
His attributes. And further, He has stamped upon all things, in 
the hour of their creation, their respective natures, and has given 
them their work and mission and their length of days, greater or 
less, in theirappointed place. I mean, too, that He is ever present 
with His works, one by one, and confronts everything He has 
made by His particular and most loving Providence, and mani- 
fests Himself to each according to its needs ; and has on rational 
beings imprinted the moral law, and given them power to obey it, 
imposing on them the duty of worship and service, searching 
and scanning them through and through with His omniscient eye, 
and putting before them a present trial and a judgment to come. 

Such is what Theology teaches about God, a doctrine, as the 
very idea of its subject-matter presupposes, so mysterious as in 
its fulness to lie beyond any system, and in particular aspects to 
be simply external to nature, and to seem in parts even to be 
•rreconcilable with itself, the imagination being unable to embrace 



104 



Philosophical. 



what the reason determines. It teaches of a being infinite, yet 
personal ; all-blessed, yet ever operative ; absolutely separate 
from the creature, yet in every part of the creation at every mo 
ment ; above all things, yet under everything. It teaches of a 
Being who, though the highest, yet in the work of creation, con- 
servation, government, retribution, makes Himself, as it were, 
the minister and servant of all ; who, though inhabiting eternity, 
allows Himself to take an interest, and to have a sympathy, in 
the matters of space and time. His are all beings, visible and 
invisible, the noblest and the vilest of them. His are the sub- 
stance, and the operation, and the results of that system of physi- 
cal nature into which we are born. His too are the powers and 
achievements of the intellectual essences, on which He has be- 
stowed an independent action and the gift of origination. The 
laws of the universe, the principles of truth, the relation of one 
thing to another, their qualities and virtues, the order and harmony 
of the whole, all that exists, is from Him ; and, if evil is not from 
Him, as assuredly it is not, this is because evil has no substance 
of its own, but is only the defect, excess, perversion, or corruption, 
of that which has substance. All we see, hear, and touch, the 
remote sidereal firmament, as well as our own sea and land, and 
the elements which compose them, and the ordinances they obey, 
are His. The primary atoms of matter, their properties, their 
mutual action, their disposition and collocation, electricity, 
magnetism, gravitation, light, and whatever other subtle prin- 
ciples or operations the wit of man is detecting or shall detect, 
are the work of His hands. From Him has been every move- 
ment which has convulsed and refashioned the surface of the 
earth. The most insignificant or unsightly insect is from Him, 
and good in its kind ; the ever-teeming, inexhaustible swarms of 
animalcula, the myriads of living motes invisible to the naked 
eye, the restless ever-spreading vegetation which creeps like a 
garment over the whole earth, the lofty cedar, the umbrageous 
banana, are His. His are the tribes and families of birds and 
beasts, their graceful forms, their wild gestures, and their pas- 
sionate cries. 

And so in the intellectual, moral, social, and political world. 
Man, with his motives and works, his languages, his propagation, 
his diffusion, is from Him. Agriculture, medicine, and the arts of 
life, are His gifts. Society, laws, government, He is their -*anc« 



What is Theology ? 



lion. The pageant of earthly royalty has the semblance and the 
benediction of the Eternal King. Peace and civilization, com- 
merce and adventure, wars when just, conquest when humane 
and necessary, have His co-operation and His blessing upon 
(hem. The course of events, the revolution of empires, the rise and 
fall of states, the periods and eras, the progresses and the retro- 
gressions of the world's history, not indeed the incidental sin, 
over-abundant as it is, but the great outlines and the results of 
numan affairs, are from His disposition. The elements and types 
and seminal principles and constructive powers of the moral 
world, in ruins though it be, are to be referred to Him. He 
' enlighteneth every man that cometh into this world." His 
are the dictates of the moral sense, and the retributive reproaches 
of conscience. To Him must be ascribed the rich endowments of 
che intellect, the irradiation of genius, the imagination of the 
poet, the sagacity of the politician, the wisdom (as Scripture calls 
it) which now rears and decorates the Temple, now manifests it- 
self in proverb or in parable. The old saws of nations, the ma- 
jestic precepts of philosophy, the luminous maxims of law, the 
oracles of individual wisdom, the traditionary rules of truth, 
justice, and religion, even though imbedded in the corruption, or 
alloyed with the pride, of the world, betoken His original agency, 
and His long-suffering presence. Even where there is habitual 
rebellion against Him, or profound far-spreading social depravity, 
still the undercurrent, or the heroic outburst, of natural virtue, 
as well as the yearnings of the heart after what it has not, and its 
presentment of its true remedies, are to be ascribed to the Author 
of all good. 

Anticipations or reminiscences of His glory haunt the mind of 
the self-sufficient sage, and of the pagan devotee ; His writing is 
upon the wall, whether of the Indian fane, or of the porticos of 
Greece. He introduces Himself, He ail but concurs, according 
to His good pleasure, and in His selected season, in the issues of 
unbelief, superstition, and false worship, and He changes the 
character of acts by His overruling operation. He condescends, 
though He gives no sanction, to the altars and shrines of impos- 
ture, and He : makes His own fiat the substitute for its sorceries. 
He speaks amid the incantations of Balaam, raises Samuel's spirit 
in the witch's cavern, prophesies of the Messias by the tongue of 
the Sibyl, forces Python to recognize His ministers, and baptizes 



io6 



Philosophical. 



by the hand of the misbeliever. He is with the heathen dramatist 
in his denunciations of injustice and tyranny, and his auguries of 
divine vengeance upon crime. Even on the unseemly legends of 
a popular mythology He casts His shadow, and is dimly discerned 
in the ode or the epic, as in troubled water or in fantastic dreams. 
All that is good, all that is true, all that is beautiful, all that is 
beneficent, be it great or small, be it perfect or fragmentary, natural 
as well as supernatural, moral as well as material, comes from 
Him. (" Idea of a University," p. 60.) 



PHYSICAL PHILOSOPHY AND THEOLOGY. 

One reason for the prejudice of physical philosophers against 
theology is to be found in the difference of method by which truths 
are gained in theology and in physical science. Induction is the 
instrument of Physics, and deduction only is the instrument of 
Theology. There the simple question is, What is revealed ? all 
doctrinal knowledge flows from one fountain head. If we are able 
to enlarge our view and multiply our propositions, it must be 
merely by the comparison and adjustment of the original truths ; 
if we would solve new questions, it must be by consulting old 
answers. The notion of doctrinal knowledge absolutely novel, 
and of simple addition from without, is intolerable to Catholic 
ears, and never was entertained by any one who was even ap- 
proaching to an understanding of our creed. Revelation is all in 
all in doctrine ; the Apostles its sole depository, the inferential 
method its sole instrument, and ecclesiastical authority its sole 
sanction. The Divine Voice has spoken once for all, and the only 
question is about its meaning. Now this process, as far as it was 
reasoning, was the very mode of reasoning, which, as regards 
physical knowledge, the school of Bacon has superseded by the 
inductive method : no wonder, then, that that school should be 
irritated and indignant to find that a subject-matter remains still, 
in which their favorite instrument has no office ; no wonder that 
they rise up against this memorial of an antiquated system, as an 
eyesore and an insult ; and no wonder that the very force and 
dazzling success of their own method in its own departments 



Physical Theology and Philosophy. 107 



should sway or bias unduly the religious sentiments of any per- 
sons who come under its influence. They assert that no new truth 
can be gained by deduction ; Catholics assent, but add, that, as 
regards religious truth, they have not to seek at all, for they have 
it already. Christian Truth is purely of revelation ; that revela- 
tion we can but explain, we cannot increase, except relatively to 
our own apprehensions ; without it we should have known nothing 
of its contents, with it we know just as much as its contents, and 
nothing more. And, as it was given by a divine act independent 
of man, so it will remain in spite of man. Niebuhr may revolu- 
tionize history, Lavoisier chemistry, Newton astronomy ; but God 
Himself is the author as well as the subject of Theology. When 
Truth can change, its Revelation can change ; when human reason 
can outreason the Omniscient, then may it supersede His work. 

Avowals such as these fall strange upon the ear of men whose 
first principle is the search after truth, and whose starting-points 
of search are things material and sensible. They scorn any pro- 
cess of enquiry not founded on experiment; the Mathematics 
indeed they endure, because that science deals with ideas, not 
with facts, and leads to conclusions hypothetical rather than real ; 
" Metaphysics " they even use as a by-word of reproach ; and 
Ethics they admit only on condition that it gives up conscience as 
its scientific ground, and bases itself on tangible utility: but as to 
Theology, they cannot deal with it, they cannot master it, and so 
they simply outlaw it and ignore it. Catholicism, forsooth, " con- 
fines the intellect," because it holds that God's intellect is greater 
than theirs, and that what He has done, man cannot improve. 
And what, in some sort, justifies them to themselves in this ex- 
travagance, is the circumstance that there is a religion close at 
their doors which, discarding so severe a tone, has actually 
adopted their own principle of enquiry. Protestantism treats 
Scripture just as they deal with Nature ; it takes the sacred text 
as a large collection of phenomena, from which, by an inductive 
process, each individual Christian may arrive at just those re- 
ligious conclusions which approve themselves to his own judg- 
ment. It considers faith a mere modification of reason, as being 
an acquiescence in certain probable conclusions till better are 
found. Sympathy, then, if no other reason, throws experimental 
philosophers into alliance with the enemies of Catholicism 
("Idea of a University," p. 222.) 



io8 



Philosophical, 



THE BACONIAN PHILOSOPHY 

The Philosophy of Utility has at least done its work ; it aimed 
low, but it has fulfilled its aim. If that man of great intellect who 
has been its prophet in the conduct of life played false to his own 
professions, he was not bound by his philosophy to be true to his 
friend or faithful in his trust Moral virtue was not the line in 
which he undertook to instruct men ; and though, as the poet 
calls him, he were the " meanest" of mankind, he was so In what 
may be called his private capacity and without any prejudice to 
the theory of induction. He had a right to be so, if he chose, for 
anything that the Idols of the den or the theatre had to say to the 
contrary. His mission was the increase of physical enjoyment 
and social comfort ;* and most wonderfully, most awfully has he 
fulfilled his conception and his design. Almost day by day have 
we fresh and fresh shoots, and buds, and blossoms, which are to 
ripen into fruit, on that magical tree of Knowledge which he 
planted, and to which none of us, perhaps, except the very poor, 
but owes, if not his present life, at least his daily food, his health, 
and general well-being. He was the divinely provided minister 
of temporal benefits to all of us so great, that, whatever I am 
forced to think of him as a man, I have not the heart, from mere 
gratitude, to speak of him severely. And, in spite of the tenden- 
cies of his philosophy, which are, as we see at this day, to depreci- 
ate, or to trample on Theology, he has himself, in his writings 
gone out of his way, as if with a prophetic misgiving of thos& 
tendencies, to insist on it as the instrument of that beneficent 
Father,f who, when He came on earth in visible form, took on 
Him first and most prominently the office of assuaging the bodily 
wounds of human nature. And truly, like the old mediciner in 

* It will be seen that on the whole I agree with Lord Macaulay in his Essay on 

Bacon's Philosophy. I do not know whether he would agree with me. 

t De Augment, iv. 2, vid. Macaulay's Essay ; vid. also " In principio operis ad 
Deum Patrem, Deum Verbum, Deum Spiritum, preces fundimus humillimas et 
ardentissimas, ut humani generis serumnarum memores, et peregrinationis istius vitse, 
in qua dies paucos et malos terimus, novis suis eleemosynis, per vianus nostras^ 
familiam humanam dotare dignentur. Atque illud insuper supplices rogamus, nff 
humayia divinis officiant: neve ex reseratione viarum senstis, et accensione 
majore luminis naturalis, aliquid incredulitatis et noctis, aaimis nostris erga 
divina mysteria oboriatur," etc. (** Prasf. Instaur Magn.") 



Rationalism. 



109 



the tale, "he sat diligently at his work, and hummed, with cheerful 
countenance, a pious song and then in turn "went out singing 
into the meadows so gaily that those who had seen him from afar 
might well have thought it was a youth gathering flowers for his 
beloved, instead of an old physician gathering healing herbs in 
the morning dew."* 

Alas, that men, ki the action of life or in their heart of hearts, 
are not what they seem to be in their moments of excitement, or 
in their trances or intoxications of genius — so good, so noble, so 
serene ! Alas, that Bacon too, in his own way, should after all be 
but the fellow of those heathen philosophers who in their disad- 
vantages had some excuse for their inconsistency, and who sur- 
prise us rather in what they did say than in what they did not do ! 
Alas, that he too, like Socrates or Seneca, must be stripped of his 
holy-day coat, which looks so fair, and should be but a mockery 
amid his most majestic gravity of phrase ; and, for all his vast 
abilities, should, in the littleness of his own moral being, but 
typify the intellectual narrowness of his school ! However, grant- 
ing all this, heroism after all was not his philosophy: I cannot 
deny he has abundantly achieved what he proposed. He is simply 
a Method whereby bodily discomforts and temporal wants are to 
be most effectually removed from the greatest number ; and 
already, before it has shown any signs of exhaustion, the gifts of 
nature, in their most artificial shapes and luxurious profusion and 
diversity, from all quarters of the earth, are, it is undeniable, by 
its means brought even to our doors, and we rejoice in them 
(" Idea of a University," p. 117.) 



RATIONALISM. 

Rationalism is a certain abuse of reason ; that is, a use of it for 
purposes for which it never was intended, and is unfitted. To 
rationalize in matters of Revelation is to make our reason the 
standard and measure of the doctrines revealed ; to stipulate that 
those doctrines should be such as to carry with them their cwn 



* Fouqu^s " Unknown Patient.' 



110 



Philosophical, 



justification; to reject them if they come in collision with oui 
existing opinions or habits of thought, or are with difficulty har 
monized with our existing stock of knowledge. And thus a 
rationalistic spirit is the antagonist of faith, for faith is, in its very 
nature, the acceptance of what our reason cannot reach, simply 
and absolutely upon testimony. 

There is, of coarse, a multitude cf cases in which we allowably 
and rightly accept statements as true, partly on reason, and partly 
on testimony. We supplement the information of others by our 
own knowledge, by our own judgment of probabilities ; and if it 
be very strange or extravagant we suspend our assent. This is 
undeniable ; still, after all, there are truths which are incapable 
of reaching us except on testimony, and there is testimony, which, 
by and in itself, has an imperative claim on our acceptance. 

As regards Revealed Truth, it is not Rationalism to set about to 
ascertain by the exercise of reason what things are attainable by 
reason and what are not ; nor, in the absence of an express Reve- 
lation, to enquire into the truths of religion, as they come to us by 
nature ; nor to determine what proofs are necessary for the accept- 
ance of a Revelation, if it be given ; nor to reject a Revelation on 
the plea of insufficient proof ; nor, after recognizing it as divine, to 
investigate the meaning of its declarations, and to interpret its 
language; nor to use its doctrines, as - far as they can be fairly 
used, in enquiring into its divinity ; nor to compare and connect 
them with our previous knowledge, with a view of making them 
parts of a whole ; nor to bring them into dependence on each 
other, to trace their mutual relations, and to pursue them to their 
legitimate issues. This is not Rationalism, but it is Rationalism 
to accept the Revelation and then to explain it away ; to speak of 
it as the Word of God, and to treat it as the word of man ; to refuse 
to let it speak for itself; to claim to be told the why and the ham 
of God's dealings with us, as therein described, and to assign to 
Him a motive and scope of our own ; to stumble at the partial 
knowledge which He may give us of them ; to put aside what is 
obscure, as if it had not been said at all ; to accept one half of 
what has been told us. and not the other half; to assume that the 
contents of Revelation are also its proof ; to frame some gratuitous 
hypothesis about them, and then to garble, gloss, and color them, 
to trim, clip, pare away, and twist them, in order to bring them 
into conformity with the idea to which we have subjected them. 



Rationalism. 



in 



When the rich lord in Samaria said, " Though God shall make 
windows in heaven, shall this thing be?" he rationalized, as pro- 
fessing his inability to discover how Elisha's prophecy was to be 
fulfilled, and thinking in this way to excuse his unbelief. When 
Naaman, after acknowledging the prophet's supernatural power, 
objected to bathe in Jordan, it was on the ground of his not seeing 
the means by which Jordan was to cure his leprosy above the rivers 
of Damascus. ''''How can these things be?" was the objection of 
Nicodemus to the doctrine of regeneration ; and when the doctrine 
of the Holy Communion was first announced, " the Jews strove 
among themselves," in answer to their Divine Informant, saying, 
"How can this man give us His flesh to eat?" When St. Thomas, 
believing in our Lord, doubted of our Lord's resurrection, though 
his reason for so doing is not given, it plainly lay in the astonish- 
ing, unaccountable nature of such an event. A like desire of 
judging for one's self is discernible in the original fall of man. Eve 
did not believe the tempter, any more than God's word, till she 
perceived that " the fruit was good for food." 

So again, when men who profess Christianity ask how prayer 
can really influence the course of God's Providence, or how ever- 
lasting punishment, as such, consists with God's infinite mercy, 
they rationalize. 

The same spirit shows itself in the restlessness of others to 
decide how the sun was stopped at Joshua's word, how the manna 
was provided, and the like, forgetting what our Saviour suggests 
to the Sadducees — "the power of God." 

Conduct such as this, on so momentous a matter, is, generally 
speaking, traceable to one obvious cause — the Rationalist makes 
himself his own centre, not his Maker ; he does not go to God, 
but he implies that God must come to him. And this, it is to be 
feared, is the spirit in which multitudes of us act at the present 
daj'. Instead of looking out of ourselves, and trying to catch 
glimpses of God's workings, from any quarter, — throwing our- 
selves forward upon Him and waiting on Him, — we sit at home, 
bringing everything to ourselves, enthroning ourselves in our own 
views, and refusing to believe anything that does not force itself 
upon us as true. Our private judgment is made everything to 
us, — is contemplated, recognized, and consulted as the arbiter of 
all questions, and as independent of everything external to us. 
Nothing is considered to have an existence except so far forth as 



112 



FhilosophicaL 



our own minds discern it. The notion of half views and partial 
knowledge, of guesses, surmises, hopes and fears, of truths 
faintly apprehended and not understood, of isolated facts in the 
great scheme of Providence, in a word, the idea of mystery is 
discarded. 

Hence, a distinction is drawn between what is called Objective 
and Subjective Truth, and Religion is said to consist in the recep- 
tion of the latter. By Objective Truth is meant the Religious 
System considered as existing in itself, external to this or that 
particular mind. By Subjective is meant that which each mind 
receives in particular, and considers to be such. To believe in 
Objective Truth is to throw ourselves forward upon that which 
we have but partially mastered or made subjective ; to embrace, 
maintain, and use general propositions which are larger than our 
own capacity, of which we cannot see the bottom, which we 
cannot follow out into their multiform details ; to come before 
and bow before the import of such propositions, as if we were 
contemplating what is real and independent of human judgment. 
Such a belief, implicit, and symbolized as it is in the use of 
creeds, seems to the Rationalist superstitious and unmeaning, 
and he consequently confines faith to the province of Subjective 
Truth, or to the reception of doctrine, as, and so far as, it is met 
and apprehended by the mind, which will be differently, as he 
considers, in different persons, in the shape of orthodoxy in one, 
heterodoxy in another. That is, he professes to believe in that 
which he opines^ and he avoids the obvious extravagance of such 
an avowal by maintaining that the moral trial involved in Faith 
does not lie in the submission of the reason to external realities 
partially disclosed, but in what he calls that candid pursuit of 
truth which ensures the eventual adoption of that opinion on the 
subject, which is best for us individually, which is most natural, 
according to the constitution of our minds, and therefore divinely 
intended for us. I repeat, he owns that faith, viewed with refer- 
ence to its objects, is never more than an opinion, and is> pleasing 
to God, not as an active principle, apprehending definite doc- 
trines, but as a result and fruit, and therefore an evidence of past 
diligence, independent enquiry, dispassionateness, and the like. 
Rationalism takes the words of Scripture as signs of ideas : Faith 
of things or realities. (" Essays Crit. and Hist./' vol. i., p. 31.) 



The God of Monotheism and of Rationatism. 



ll 3 



THE GOD OF MONOTHEISM AND THE GOD OF 
RATIONALISM. 

With us Catholics, as with the first race of Protestants, as with 
the Mahometans, and all Theists, the word God contains a the- 
ology in itself. According to the teaching of Monotheism God 
is an Individual, Self-dependent, All-perfect, Unchangeable Being 
intelligent, living, personal, and present ; Almighty, all-seeing, 
all-remembering; between whom and His creatures there is an 
infinite gulf; who has no origin, who is all-sufficient for Himself; 
who created and upholds the universe ; who will judge every one 
of us, sooner or later, according to that law of right and wrong 
which He has written on our hearts. He is One who is sovereign 
over, operative amidst, independent of the appointments which 
He has made. One in whose hands are all things, who has a 
purpose in every event, and a standard for every deed, and thus 
has relations of His own towards the subject-matter of each par- 
ticular science which the book of knowledge unfolds ; who has 
with an adorable, never-ceasing energy, implicated Himself in all 
the history of creation, the constitution of nature, the course of 
the world, the origin of society, the fortunes of nations, the action 
of the human mind ; and who thereby necessarily becomes the 
subject-matter of a science far wider and more noble than any of 
those which are included in the circle of secular education. 

This is the doctrine which belief in a God implies in the mind 
of a Catholic : if it means anything it means all this, and cannot 
keep from meaning all this, and a great deal more ; and even 
though there were nothing in the religious tenets of the last three 
centuries to disparage dogmatic truth, still, even then, I 
should have difficulty in believing that a doctrine so mysterious, 
so peremptory, approved itself as a matter of course to educated 
men of this day, who gave their minds attentively to consider it. 
Rather, in a state of society such as ours, in which authority, pre- 
scription, tradition, habit, moral instinct, and the divine influen- 
ces, go for nothing ; in which patience of thought, and depth and 
consistency of view, are scorned as subtle and scholastic ; in 
which free discussion and fallible judgment are prized as the 
birthright of each individual, I must be excused if I exercise to- 
wards this age, as regards its belief in this doctrine, some portion 



ii4 



Philosophical. 



of that scepticism which it exercises itself towards every received 
but unscrutinized assertion whatever. I cannot take it for grant- 
ed, I must have it brought home to me by tangible evidence, tha 
the spirit of the age means by the Supreme Being what Catholics 
mean. Nay, it would be a relief to my mind to gain some ground 
of assurance that the parties influenced by that spirit had, I will 
not say a true apprehension of God, but even so much as the idea 
of what a true apprehension is. 

Nothing is easier than to use the word, and mean nothing by 
it. The heathens used to say, "God wills," when they meant 
"Fate;" "God provides/' when they meant " Chance " God 
acts/' when they meant "Instinct" or "Sense;" and u God is 
everywhere," when they meant " the Soul of Nature." The Al- 
mighty is something infinitely different from a principle, or a 
centre of action, or a quality, or a generalization of phenomena. 
If, then, by the word, you do but mean a Being who keeps the 
world in order, who acts in it, but only in the way of general 
Providence, who acts towards us but only through what are called 
laws of Nature, who is more certain not to act at all than to act 
independent of those laws, who is known and approached indeed, 
but only through the medium of those laws ; such a God it is not 
difficult for any one to conceive, not difficult for any one to en- 
dure. If, I say, as you would revolutionize society, so you would 
revolutionize heaven, if you have changed the divine sovereignty 
into a sort of constitutional monarchy, in which the Throne has 
honor and ceremonial enough, but cannot issue the most ordinary 
command except through legal forms and precedents, and with 
the counter- signature of a minister, then belief in a God is no 
more than an acknowledgment of existing, sensible powers and 
phenomena, which none but an idiot can deny. If the Supreme 
Being is powerful or skilful, just so far forth as the telescope 
shows power, and the microscope shows skill, if His moral law is 
to be ascertained simply by the physical processes of the animal 
frame, or His will gathered from the immediate issues of human 
affairs, if His Essence is just as high and deep and broad and long 
as the universe, and no more ; if this be the fact, then will I con- 
fess that there is no specific science about God, that Theology is 
but a name, and a protest in its behalf an hypocrisy. Then is He 
but coincident with the laws of the universe ; then is He but a 
function, or correlative, or subjective reflection and mental im- 



The Duty of " Scepticism? 



"5 



pression, of each phenomenon of the material or moral world, as 
t flits before us. Then, pious as it is to think of Him, while tho 
pageant of experiment or abstract reasoning passes by, still, such 
piety is nothing more than a poetry of thought or an ornament of 
language, and has not even an infinitesimal influence upon phi- 
losophy or science, of which it is rather the parasitical production, 
I understand, in that case, why Theology should require no 
specific teaching, for there is nothing to mistake about ; why it is 
powerless against scientific anticipations, for it merely is one of 
them ; why it is simply absurd in its denunciations of heresy, for 
heresy does not lie in the region of fact and experiment. I under- 
stand, in that case, how it is that the religious sense is but a 
"sentiment," and its exercise a "gratifying treat," for it is like 
the sense of the beautiful or the sublime. I understand how the 
contemplation of the universe " leads onward to divine truth," for 
divine truth is not something separate from Nature, but it is Na- 
ture with a divine glow upon it. I understand the zeal expressed 
for Physical Theology, for this study is but a mode of looking at 
Physical Nature, a certain view taken of Nature, private and per- 
sonal, which one man has, and another has not, which gifted 
minds strike out, which others see to be admirable and ingenious, 
and which all would be the better for adopting. It is but the the- 
ology of Nature, just as we talk of the philosophy or the romance 
of history, or the poefry of childhood, or the picturesque, or the 
sentimental, or the humorous, or any other abstract quality, which 
the genius or the caprice of the individual, or the fashion of the 
day, or the consent of the world, recognizes in any set of objects 
which are subjected to its contemplation. (" Idea of a Universi- 
ty," p. 36.) 



THE "DUTY OF SCEPTICISM." 

The right of making assumptions has been disputed ; but, 
when the objections are examined, I think they only go to show 
that we have no right in argument to make any assumption we 
please. Thus, in historical researches, it seems fair to say that no 
testimony should be received, except such as comes to us from 



n6 Philosophical. 

competent witnesses, while it is not unfair to urge, on the other 
side, that tradition, though unauthenticated, being (what is called) 
in possession, has a prescription in its favor, and may, prima 
fzcie> or provisionally, be received. Here are the materials of a 
fair dispute ; but there are writers who seem to have gone far be- 
yond this reasonable scepticism, laying down as a general propo- 
sition that we have no right in philosophy to make any 
assumption whatever, and that we ought to begin with a universal 
doubt. This, however, is of all assumptions the greatest, and to 
forbid them is to forbid it. Doubt itself is a positive state, and 
implies a definite habit of mind, and thereby necessarily involves 
a system of principles and doctrines of its own. Again, if nothing 
is to be assumed, what is our very method of reasoning but an 
assumption? and what our nature itself? The very sense of 
pleasure and pain, which is one of the most intimate portions of 
ourselves, inevitably translates itself into intellectual assumptions. 

Of the two, I would rather have to maintain that we ought to 
begin with believing even-thing that is offered to our acceptance 
than that it is our duty to doubt of every thing. This, indeed, 
seems the true way of learning. In that case, we soon discover 
and discard what is contradictor}*; and error having always some 
portion of truth in it, and the truth having a reality which error 
has not, we may expect, that when there is an honest purpose and 
fair talents, we shall somehow make our way forward, the error 
falling off from the mind, and the truth developing and occupying 
it. ( " Grammar of Assent," p. 370.) 



APPREHENSION OF GOD THROUGH THE 
CONSCIENCE. 

Conscience, considered as a moral sense, an intellectual senti* 
ment, is a sense of admiration and disgust, of approbation and 
blame : but it is something more than a moral sense ; it is always, 
what the sense of the beautiful is only in certain cases — it is 
always emotional. No wonder then that it always implies what 
that sense only sometimes implies ; that it always involves the 
recognition of a living object, towards which it is directed. In- 



Apprehension of God through the Conscience. 117 



animate things cannot stir our affections ; these are correlative 
with persons. If, as is the case, we feel responsibility, are 
ashamed, are frightened, at transgressing the voice of conscience, 
this implies that there is One to whom we are responsible before 
whom we are ashamed, and whose claims upon us we fear. If, on 
doing wrong, we feel the same tearful, broken-hearted sorrow which 
overwhelms us on hurting a mother ; if, on doing right, we en- 
joy the same sunny serenity of mind, the same soothing, satis- 
factory delight which follows on our receiving praise from a father, 
we certainly have within us the image of some person, to whom 
our love and veneration look, in whose smile we find our happi- 
ness, for whom we yearn, towards whom we direct our pleadings, 
in whose anger we are troubled and waste away. These feelings 
in us are such as require for their exciting cause an intelligent 
being: we are not affectionate towards a stone, nor do we feel 
shame before a horse or a dog ; we have no remorse or compunc- 
tion in breaking mere human law ; yet, so it is, conscience excites 
all these painful emotions, confusion, foreboding, self-condem- 
nation ; and, on the other hand, it sheds upon us a deep peace, a 
sense of security, a resignation and a hope, which there is no 
sensible, no earthly object to elicit. " The wicked flees, when no 
one pursueth ; v then why does he flee? whence his terror? Who 
is it that he sees in solitude, in darkness, in the hidden chambers 
of his heart? If the cause of these emotions does not belong to 
this visible world, the Object to which his perception is directed 
must be Supernatural and Divine ; and thus the phenomena of 
Conscience, as a dictate, avail to impress the imagination with 
the picture of a Supreme Governor, a Judge, holy, just, powerful, 
all-seeing, retributive, and is the creative principle of religion, as 
the Moral Sense is the principle of ethics. 

And let me here refer to the fact that this instinct of the mind, 
recognizing an external Master in the dictate of conscience, and 
imaging the thought of him in the definite impressions which con- 
science creates, is parallel to that other law of, not only human, 
but brute nature, by which the presence of unseen individual 
beings is discerned under the shifting shapes and colors of the 
visible world. Is it by sense, or by reason, that brutes under- 
stand the real unities, material and spiritual, which are signified 
by the lights and shadows, the brilliant, ever-changing kaleido- 
scope, as it may be called, which plays upon their retina? Not 



nS 



Philosophical. 



by reason, for they have not reason ; not by sense, because the) 
are transcending sense ; therefore it is an instinct. This faculty 
on the part of brutes, unless we were used to it, would strike us 
as a great mystery. It is one peculiarity of animal nature to be 
susceptible of phenomena through the channel of sense ; it is an- 
other to have in those sensible phenomena a perception of the in- 
dividuals to which certain groups of them belong. This perception 
of individual things is given to brutes in large measures, and that, 
apparently from the moment of their birth. It is by no mere 
physical instinct, such as that which leads him to his mother for 
milk, that the new-dropped lamb recognizes each of his fellow- 
lambkins as a whole, consisting of many parts bound up in one 
and, before he is an hour old, makes experience of his and their 
rival individualities. And much more distinctly do the horse and 
dog recognize even the personality of their masters. How are we 
to explain this apprehension of things, which are one and indi- 
vidual, in the midst of a world of pluralities and transmutations 
whether in the instance of brutes or of children? But until we 
account for the knowledge which an infant has of his mother or 
his nurse, what reason have we to take exception at the doctrine, 
as strange and difficult, that in the dictate of conscience, without 
previous experiences or analogical reasoning, he is able gradually 
to perceive the voice, or the echoes of the voice, of a Master, living, 
personal, and sovereign? 

I grant, of course, that we cannot assign a date, ever so early, 
before which he had learned nothing at all, and formed no mental 
associations, from the words and conduct of those who have the 
care of him. But still, if a child of five or six years old, when 
reason is at length fully awake, has already mastered and appro- 
priated thoughts and beliefs, in consequence of their teaching, in 
such sort as to be able to handle and apply them familiarly, ac- 
cording to the occasion, as principles of intellectual action, those 
beliefs at the very least must be singularly congenial to his mind, 
if not connatural with its initial action. And that such a spon- 
taneous reception of religious truths is common with children, I 
shall take for granted, till I am convinced that I am wrong in so 
doing. The child keenly understands that there is a difference 
between right and wrong ; and when he has done what he believes 
to be wrong, he is conscious that he is offending One to whom he 
is amenable, whom he does not see, who sees him. His mind 



Apprehension of God through the Conscience. 119 



reaches forward with a strong presentiment to the thought of a 
Moral Governor, sovereign over him, mindful, and just. It comes 
to him like an impulse of nature to entertain it. 

It is my wish to take an ordinary child, but one who is safe 
from influences destructive of his religious instincts. Supposing 
6e has offended his parents, he will all alone and without effort, 
as if it were the most natural of acts, place himself in the pre- 
sence of God, and beg of Him to set him right with them. Let 
us consider how much is contained in this simple act. First, it 
involves the impression on his mind of an unseen Being with 
whom he is in immediate relation, and that relation so familiar 
that he can address Him whenever he himself chooses ; next, of 
One whose good-will towards him he is assured of, and can take 
for granted — nay, who loves him better, and is nearer to him, than 
his parents ; further, of One who can hear him, wherever he hap- 
pens to be, and who can read his thoughts, for his prayer need 
not be vocal ; lastly, of One who can effect a critical change in 
the state of feeling of others towards him. That is, we shall not 
be wrong in holding that this child has in his mind the image of 
an Invisible Being, who exercises a particular providence among 
us, who is present everywhere, who is heart- reading, heart-chang- 
ing, ever-accessible, open to impetration. What a strong and 
intimate vision of God must he have already attained, if, as I have 
supposed, an ordinary trouble of mind has the spontaneous effect 
of leading him for consolation and aid to an Invisible Personal 
Power ! 

Moreover, this image brought before his mental vision is the 
image of One who by implicit threat and promise commands cer- 
tain things which he, the same child, coincidently, by the same 
act of his mind, approves ; which receive the adhesion of his 
moral sense and judgment, as right and good. It is the image of 
One who is good, inasmuch as enjoining and enforcing what is 
right and good, and who, in consequence, not only excites in the 
child hope and fear — nay (it may be added), gratitude towards 
Him, as giving a law and maintaining it by reward and punish- 
ment, but kindles in him love towards Him, as giving him a good 
law, and therefore as being good Himself, for it is the property of 
goodness to kindle love, or rather the very object of love is good- 
ness ; and all those distinct elements of the moral law, which the 
typical child, whom I am supposing, more or less consciously 



120 



Philosophical. 



loves and approves — truth, purity, justice, kindness, and the like 
— are but shapes and aspects of goodness. And having in his 
degree a sensibility towards them all, for the sake of them all he 
is moved to love the Lawgiver, who enjoins them upon him. 
And, as he can contemplate these qualities and their manifesta- 
tions under the common name of goodness, he is prepared to 
think of them as indivisible, correlative, supplementary of each 
other in one and the same Personality, so that there is no aspect 
of goodness which God is not ; and that the more, because the 
notion of perfection embracing all possible excellences, both moral 
and intellectual, is especially congenial to the mind, and there are 
in fact intellectual attributes, as well as moral, included in the 
child's image of God as above represented. 

Such is the apprehension which even a child may have of his 
Sovereign, Lawgiver, and Judge ; which is possible in the case of 
children, because, at least, some children possess it, whether 
others possess it or no ; and which, when it is found in children, is 
found to act promptly and keenly, by reason of the paucity of their 
ideas. It is an image of the good God, good in Himself, good 
relatively to the child, with whatever incompleteness ; an image 
before it has been reflected on, and before it is recognized by him 
as a notion. Though we cannot explain or define the word " God," 
when told to use it, his acts show that to him it is far more than a 
word. He listens, indeed, with wonder and interest to fables or 
tales ; he has a dim, shadowy sense of what he hears about per- 
sons and matters of this world ; but he has that within him which 
actually vibrates, responds, and gives a deep meaning to the les- 
sons of his first teachers, about the will and the providence of 
God. 

How far this initial religious knowledge comes from without, 
and how much from within, how much is natural, how much im- 
plies a special divine aid which is above nature, we have no 
means of determining, nor is it necessary for my prese it 
to determine. I am not engaged in tracing the image of God in 
the mind of a child or a man to its first origins, but showing that 
he can become possessed of such an image, over and above all 
mere notions of God, and in what that image consists. Whether 
its elements, latent in the mind, would ever be elicited without 
extrinsic help is very doubtful ; but whatever be the actual history 
of the first formation of the divine Lmage within us, so far is e'er- 



Apprehension of God through the Co?iscience. 121 



tain, that, by informations external to ourselves as time goes on, 
itadmits of being strengthened and improved. It is certain, too,* 
that, whether it grows brighter and stronger, or, on the other 
hand, is dimmed, distorted, or obliterated, depends on each of us 
individually, and on his circumstances. It is more than probable 
that, in the event, from neglect, from the temptations of life, from 
bad companions, or from the urgency of secular occupations, the 
light of the soul will fade away and die out. Men transgress their 
sense of duty, and gradually lose those sentiments of shame and 
fear, the natural supplements of transgression, which, as I have 
said, are the witnesses of the Unseen Judge. And, even were it 
deemed impossible that those who had in their first youth a gen- 
uine apprehension of Him, could ever utterly lose it, yet that 
apprehension may become almost undistinguishable, from an 
inferential acceptance of the great truth, or may dwindle into a 
mere notion of their intellect. On the contrary the image of God, if 
duly cherished, may expand, deepen, and be completed with the 
growth of their powers, and in the course of life, under the varied 
lessons, within-and without them, which are brought home to them 
concerning that same God, One and Personal, by means of edu- 
cation, social intercourse, experience and literature. 

To a mind thus carefully formed upon the basis of its natural 
conscience, the world, both of nature and of man, does but give 
back a reflection of those truths about the One Living God, which 
have been familiar to it from childhood. Good and evil meet us 
daily as we pass through life, and there are those who think it 
philosophical to act towards the manifestations of each with some 
sort of impartiality, as if evil had as much right to be there as 
good, or even a better, as having more striking triumphs and a 
broader jurisdiction. And because the course of things is deter- 
mined by fixed laws, they consider that those laws preclude the 
present agency of the Creator in the carrying out of particular 
issues. It is otherwise with the theology of a religious imagin- 
ation. It has a living hold on truths which are really to be found 
in the world, though they are not upon the surface. It is able to 
pronounce by anticipation, what it takes a long argument to 
prove — that good is the rule, and evil the exception. It is able 
to assume that, uniform as are the laws of nature, they are con- 

* [Compare the passage in Book IV. of the 44 Excursion," beginning, 
u Alas! the endowment of immortal power."] 



122 



Philosophical 



sistent with a particular Providence. It interprets what it seeg 

around it by this previous inward teaching, as the true key of that 
maze of vast complicated disorder; and thus it gains a more con- 
sistent and luminous vision of God from the most unpromising 
materials. Thus conscience is a connecting principle between the 
creature and his Creator ; and the firmest hold of theological 
truths is gained by habits of personal religion. When men begin 
all their works with the thought of God, acting for His sake and 
to fulfil His will, when they ask His blessing on themselves and 
their life, pray to Him for the objects they desire, and see Him in 
the event, whether it be according to their prayers or not, they 
they will find even-thing that happens tend to confirm them in the 
truths about Him which live in their imagination, varied and 
unearthly as those truths may be. Then they are brought into 
His presence as a Living Person, and are able to hold converse 
with Him, and that with a directness and simplicity, with a con< 
fidence and intimacy, mutatis mutandis, which we use towards an 
earthly superior ; so that it is doubtful whether we realize the 
company of our fellow-men with greater keenness than these 
favored minds are able to contemplate and adore the Unseen 
Incomprehensible Creator, (* Grammar of Assent," p. 106.) 



HUMES ARGUMENT AGAINST THE JEWISH AND 
CHRISTIAN MIRACLES. 

It is argued by Hume against the actual occurrence of the Jewish 
and Christian miracles, that whereas " it is experience only which 
gives authority to human testimony, and it is the same experience 
which assures us of the laws of nature," therefore, " when these 
two kinds of experience are contrary" to each other, l 'we are 
bound to subtract the one from the other;" and, in consequence, 
since we have no experience of a violation ( f natural laws, and 
much experience of the violation of truth, f( we may establish it as 
a maxim that no human testimony can have such force as to prove 
a miracle, and make it a just foundation for any such system of 
^religion."* 



* Works, vol. iii. p. 17 ; e<f. 1770, 



Hume's Argument against Miracles. 



I will accept the general proposition, but I resist its application. 
Doubtless it is abstractedly more likely that men should lie than 
that the order of nature should be infringed ; but what is abstract 
reasoning to a question of concrete fact? To arrive at the fact of 
any matter, we must eschew generalities, and take things as they 
stand, with all their circumstances. A priori, of course the acts of 
men are not so trustworthy as the order of nature, and the pre- 
tence of miracles is in fact more common than the occurrence. 
But the question is not about miracles in general, or men in gen- 
eral, but definitely, whether these particular miracles, ascribed to 
the particular Peter, James and John, are more likely to have 
been or not ; whether they are unlikely, supposing that there is a 
Power, external to the world, who can bring them about ; suppos- 
ing they are the only means by which He can reveal Himself to 
those who need a revelation ; supposing He is likely to reveaU 
Himself; that He has a great end in doing so ; and the professed 
miracles in question are like His natural works, and such as He 
is likely to work, in case He wrought miracles ; that great effects, 
otherwise unaccountable, in the event followed upon the acts said 
to be miraculous ; that they were from the first accepted as true by 
large numbers of men against their natural interests ; that the 
reception of them as true has left its mark upon the world, as no 
other event ever did ; that, viewed in their effects, they have — that 
is, the belief of them has — served to raise human nature to a high 
moral standard, otherwise unattainable ; these and the like con- 
siderations are parts of a great complex argument, which so far 
can be put into propositions, but which, between, and around, and 
behind these, is implicit and secret, and cannot by any ingenuity 
be imprisoned in a formula, and packed into a nut-shell. These 
various conditions may be decided in the affirmative or in the neg- 
ative. That is a further point ; here I only insist upon the nature 
of the argument, if it is to be philosophical. It must be no smart 
antithesis which may look well on paper, but the living action of 
the mind on a great problem of fact ; and we must summon to our 
aid all our powers and resources, if we would encounter it 
worthily, and not as if it were a literary essay. ("Grammar of 
Assent," p. 298.) 



124 



Philosophical. 



GIBBON'S " FIVE CAUSES." 

Gibbon has mentioned five causes in explanation of [the rise and 
establishment of Christianity], viz. the zeal of Christians, inherited 
from the Jews ; their doctrine of a future state ; their claim to mira- 
culous power; their virtues ; and their ecclesiastical organization. 
Let us briefly consider them. 

He thinks these five causes, when combined, will fairly account 
for the event ; but he has not thought of accounting for their com- 
bination. If they are ever so available for his purpose, still that 
availableness arises out of their coincidence, and out of what does 
that coincidence arise? Until this is explained, nothing is ex 
plained, and the question had better have been let alone. Thesv 
presumed causes are quite distinct from each other, and, I say, tht 
wonder is, what made them come together. How came a multi- 
tude of Gentiles to be influenced with Jewish zeal ? How came 
zealots to submit to a strict ecclesiastical regime? What connec- 
tion has such a regime with the immortality of the soul ? Why 
should immortality, a philosophical doctrine, lead to belief in 
miracles, which is a superstition of the vulgar? What tendency 
had miracles and magic to make men austerely virtuous? Lastly, 
what power had a code of virtue, as calm and enlightened as that 
of Antoninius, to generate a zeal as fierce as that of Maccabaeus ? 
Wonderful events before now have apparently been nothing but 
coincidences, certainly; but they do not become less wonderful 
by cataloguing their constituent causes, unless we also show how 
these came to be constituent. 

However, this by the way ; the real question is this — are these 
historical characteristics of Christianity, also in matter of fact, 
historical causes of Christianity? Has Gibbon given proof that 
they are ? Has he brought evidence of their operation, or does he 
simply conjecture in his private judgment that they operated ? 
Whether they were adapted to accomplish a certain work, is a 
matter of opinion ; whether they did accomplish it is a question of 
fact. He ought to adduce instances of their efficiency before he 
has a right to say that they are efficient. And the second question 
is, what is this effect, of which they are to be considered as causes ? 
It is no other than this, the conversion of bodies of men to the 
Christian faith. Let us keep this in view. We have to determine 



Gibbon's "Five Causes.' 1 



I2 5 



whether these five characteristics of Christianity were efficient 
causes of bodies of men becoming Christians? I think they 
neither did effect such conversions, nor were adapted to do so, and 
for these reasons : 

1, For first, as to zeal, by which Gibbon means party spirit, or 
espuit de corps ; this doubtless is a motive principle when men arc 
already members of a body, but does it operate in bringing- them 
into it? The Jews were born in Judaism, they had a long and 
glorious history, and would naturally feel and show espirit de corps ; 
but how did party spirit tend to bring Jew or Gentile out of his 
own place into a new society, and that a society which as yet 
scarcely was formed into a society? Zeal, certainly, may be felt 
for a cause, or for a person ; on this point I shall speak presently; 
but Gibbon's idea of Christian zeal is nothing better than the old 
wine of Judaism decanted into new Christian bottles, and wc aid 
be too Sat a stimulant, even if it admitted of such a transference, 
to be taken as a cause of conversion to Christianity without defi- 
nite evidence, in proof of the fact. Christians had zeal for Chris- 
tianity after they were converted, not before. 

2. Next, as to the doctrine of a future state. Gibbon seems to 
mean by this doctrine the fear of hell ; now certainly in this day 
there are persons converted from sin to a religious life by vivid 
descriptions of the future punishment of the wicked ; but then it 
must be recollected that such persons already believe in the doc- 
trines thus urged upon them. On the contrary, give some tract 
upon hell-fire to one of the wild boys in a large town, who has had 
no education, has no faith ; and, instead of being startled by it, he 
will laugh at it as something frightfull)' ridiculous. The belief in 
Styx and Tartarus was dying out of the world at the time that 
Christianity came, as the parallel belief now seems to be dying out 
in all classes of our own society. The doctrine of eternal punish- 
ment does only anger the multitude of men in oui large towns 
now, and make them blaspheme ; why should it have had any other 
effect on the heathen populations in the age when our Lord came? 
Yet it was among those populations that He and His made their 
way from the first. As to the hope of eternal life, that doubtless, 
as well as the fear of hell, was a most operative doctrine in the case 
of men who had been ■actually converted, of Christians brought 
before the magistrate, or writhing under torture ; but the thought 
of eternal glory does not keep bad men from a bad life now, and 



126 



Philosophical. 



why should it convert them then from their pleasant sins, to a 
heavy, mortified, joyless existence, to a life of ill-usage, fright; 
contempt, and desolation ? 

3. That the claim to miracles should have any wide influence 
in favor of Christianity among heathen populations, who had 
plenty of portents of their own, is an opinion in curious contrast 
with the objection against Christianity which has provoked an 
answer from Paley, viz. that " Christian miracles are not recited 
or appealed to, by early Christian writers themselves, so fully or 
so frequently as might have been expected." Paley* solves the 
difficulty as far as it is a fact, by observing, as I have suggested, 
that " it was their lot to contend with magical agency, against 
which the mere production of these facts was not sufficient for the 
convincing of their adversaries :" "I do not know," he contin- 
ues, " whether they themselves thought it decisive of the contro. 
versy.*' A claim to miraculous power on the part of the Christians, 
which is so frequent as to become an objection to the fact of their 
possessing it, can hardly have been a principal cause of their 
success. 

4. And how is it possible to imagine with Gibbon that what he 
calls the " sober and domestic virtues " of Christians, their " aver- 
sion to the luxury of the age," their "chastity, temperance, antf 
economy," that these dull qualities were persuasives of a nature to 
win and melt the hard heathen heart, in spite too of the dreary pros- 
pect of the barathrum, the amphitheatre, and the stake? Did the 
Christian morality by its severe beauty make a convert of Gibbon 
himself? On the contrary, he bitterly says, " It was not in this world 
that the primitive Christians were desirous of making themselves 
either agreeable or useful. " " The virtue of the primitive Chris- 
tians, like that of the first Romans, was very frequently guarded 
by poverty and ignorance." " Their gloomy and austere aspect, 
their abhorrence of the common business and pleasures of life, 
and their frequent predictions of impending calamities, inspired 
the Pagans with the apprehension of some danger which would 
arise from the new sect." Here we have not only Gibbon hating 
their moral and social bearing, but his heathen also. How then 
were those heathen overcome by the amiableness of that which 
they viewed with such disgust? We have here plain proof that 



* See Note at page 128, 



The Principle of Faith, 



121 



the Christian character repelled the heathen ; where is the evi- 
dence that it converted them? 

5. Lastly, as to the ecclesiastical organization, this, doubtless, 
as time went on, was a special characteristic of the new religion ; 
but how could it directly contribute to its extension ? Of 
course it gave it strength, but it did not give it life. We are 
not born of bones and muscles. It is one thing to make conquests, 
another to consolidate an empire. Before Constantine, Christians 
made their great conquests. Rules are for settled times, not for 
time of war. So much is this contrast felt in the Catholic Church 
now, that, as is well known, in heathen countries and in countries 
which have thrown off her yoke, she suspends her diocesan ad- 
ministration and her Canon Law, and puts her children under 
the extraordinary, extra-legal jurisdiction of Propaganda. 

This is what I am led to say on Gibbon's Five Causes. I do 
not deny that they might have operated now and then ; Simon 
Magus came to Christianity in order to learn the craft of miracles, 
and Peregrinus from love of influence and power ; but Chris- 
tianity made its way, not by individual, but by broad, wholesale 
conversions, and the question is, how they originated? 

It is very remarkable that it should not have occurred to a man 
of Gibbon's sagacity to enquire, what account the Christians 
themselves gave of the matter. Would it not have been worth 
while for him to have let conjecture alone, and to have looked for 
facts instead? Why did he not try the hypothesis of faith, hope, 
and charity? Did he never hear of love towards God, and faith 
in Christ? Did he not recollect the many words of Apostles, 
Bishops, Apologists, Martyrs, all forming one testimony? No ; 
such thoughts are close upon him, and close upon the truth ; 
but he cannot sympathize with them, he cannot believe in them, 
he cannot even enter into them, because he needs the due prepa- 
ration of mind. (" Grammar of Assent," p. 451.) 



THE PRINCIPLE OF FAITH. 

The Gospel, as contrasted with all religious systems which 
have gone before and come after, even those in which God has 
spoken, is specially the system of faith and " the law of faith,' 



128 



Philosophical. 



and its obedience is the " obedience of faith," and its justification 
is " by faith," and it is a " power of God unto salvation to every 
one that beiieveth." For at the time of its first preaching the 
Jews went by sight and the Gentiles by reason ; both might be- 
lieve, but on a belief resolvable into sight or reason — neither went 
simply by faith. The Greeks sought after " wisdom," some origi- 
nal and recondite philosophy, which might serve as an M evi- 
dence n or ground of proof for " things not seen." The Jews, on 
the other hand, " required a sign," some sensible display of God's 
power, a thing of sight and touch, which might be " the sub- 
stance," the earnest and security " of things hoped for." Such 
was the state of the world, when it pleased Almighty God, in 
furtherance of his plan of mercy, to throw men's minds upon the 
next world, without any other direct medium of evidence than 
the word of man claiming to be His ; to change the face of the 
world by what the world called u the foolishness of preaching " 
and the unreasoning zeal and obstinacy of faith, using a principle 
in truth's behalf which in the world's evil history has ever been 
the spring of great events and strange achievements. Faith, 
which in the natural man has manifested itself in the fearful energy 
of superstition and fanaticism, is in the Gospel grafted on the 
love of God, and made to mould the heart of man into His image* 
The Apostles then proceeded thus : — they did not rest their 
cause on argument ; they did not rely on eloquence, wisdom, or 
reputation ; nay, nor did they make miracles necessary to the en- 
forcement of their claims * They did not resolve faith into sight or 
reason ; they contrasted it with both, and bade their hearers be- 
lieve, sometimes in spite, sometimes in default, sometimes in aid, 
of sight and reason. They exhorted them to make trial of the 
Gospel, since they would find their account in so doing. They 

* Vid. Acts xvii. 23, xxiv. 25. Paley, whose work on the Evidences is founded 
en the notion that the miracles wrought by Christ and His Apostles are to be the 
ground of our faith, feels the difficulty that in fact they were not so accounted in 
early times. After quoting passages of the Fathers in his favor, he adds, " I am 
ready, however, to admit that the ancient Christian advocates did not insist upon 
the miracles in argument so frequently as I should have done. It was their lot 
to contend with notions of magical agency, against which the mere production 
of the facts was not sufficient for the convincing of their adversaries. / do not 
knoiv whether they themselves thought it quite decisive of the controversy." — 
Part iii. c. 5, fin. Then on what did they believe ? Again : Are not philosophical 
objections as cogent now against miracles as the belief in magic then ? 



The Principle of Faith, 



129 



appealed to men's hearts, and, according to their hearts, so they 
answered them. They appealed to their secret belief in a super 
intending Providence, to their hopes and fears thence resulting j 
and they professed to reveal to them the nature, personality, attri 
butes, will, and works of Him " whom they ignorantly worship- 
ped. They came as commissioned from Him, and declared that 
mankind was a guilty and outcast race,— that sin was a misery 
that the world was a snare, — that life was a shadow, — that Gc 
was everlasting, — that His Law was holy and true, and its sane 
tions certain and terrible ; — that He also was all-merciful, — that 
He had appointed a Mediator between Him and them, who had 
removed all obstacles, and was desirous to restore them, and that 
He had sent themselves to explain how. They said that that 
Mediator had come and gone ; but had left behind Him what was 
to be his representative till the end of all things, His mystical 
Body, the Church, in joining which lay the salvation of the world. 

So they preached, and so they prevailed ; using indeed per 
suasives of every kind as they were given them, but resting at 
bottom on a principle higher than the senses or the reason. They 
used many arguments, but as outward forms of something beyond 
argument. Thus they appealed to the miracles they wrought, as 
sufficient signs of their power, and assuredly divine, in spite of 
those which other systems could show or pretended. They ex- 
postulated with the better sort on the ground of their instinctive 
longings and dim visions of something greater than the world. 
They awed and overcame the passionate by means of what re- 
mained of heaven in them, and of the involuntary homage which 
such men pay to the more realized tokens of heaven in others. 
They asked the more generous-minded whether it was not worth 
while to risk something on the chance of augmenting and per- 
fecting those precious elements of good which their hearts still 
held ; and they could not hide what they cared not to " glory in, 
their own disinterested sufferings, their high deeds, and their 
sanctity of life. They won over the affectionate and gentle by 
the beauty of holiness, and the embodied mercies of Christ as 
seen in the ministrations and ordinances of His Church. Thus 
they spread their nets for disciples, and caught thousands at a 
cast ; thus they roused and inflamed their hearts into enthusiasm, 
till "the Kingdom of Heaven suffered violence, and the violent 
took it by force. 



130 



Philosophical. 



And when these had entered it, many of them, doubtless, 
would wax cold in love, and fall away ; for many had entered onl? 
on impulse ; many, with Simon Magus, on wonder or curiosity] 
many from a mere augmentative belief, which leads as readily 
into heresy as into the Truth. But still, those who had the seed 
of God within them, would become neither offences in the 
Church, nor apostates, nor heretics ; but would find day by day, 
as love increased, increased experience that what they had ven- 
tured boldly, amid conflicting evidence, of sight against sight, 
and reason against reason, with many things against it, but more 
things for it, they had ventured well. The examples of meekness, 
cheerfulness, contentment, silent endurance, private self-denial, 
fortitude, brotherly love, perseverance in well-doing, which would 
from time to time meet them in their new kingdom, — the subli- 
mity and harmony of the Church's doctrine, — the touching and 
subduing beauty of her services and appointments, — their con- 
sciousness of her virtue, divinely imparted, upon themselves, in 
subduing, purifying, changing them, — the bountifulness of her 
alms-giving, — her power, weak as she was and despised, over 
the statesmen and philosophers of the world, — her consistent and 
steady aggression upon it, moving forward in spite of it on all 
sides at once, like the wheels in the Prophet's vision, and this in 
contrast with the ephemeral and variable outbreaks of sectarian- 
ism, — the unanimity and intimacy existing between her widely- 
separated branches, — the mutual sympathy and correspondence 
of men of hostile nations and foreign languages, — the simplicity 
of her ascetics, the gravity of her Bishops, the awful glory shed 
around her Martyrs, and the mysterious and recurring traces of 
miraculous agency here and there, once and again according as 
the Spirit willed, — these and the like persuasives acted on them 
day by day, turning the whisper of their hearts into an habitual 
conviction, and establishing in the reason what had been begun 
in the will. And thus has the Church been upheld ever since by 
an appeal to the People, — to the necessities of human nature, the 
anxieties of conscience, and the instincts of purity ; forcing upon 
Kings a sufferance or protection which they fain would dispense 
with, and upon Philosophy a grudging submission and a reserved 
and limited recognition. ( u Lectures on Justification," pp. 267- 
272.) 



PART III. 



HISTORICAL. 



ENGLISH JEALOUSY OF CHURCH AND ARMY. 



Every Sovereign State will naturally feel a jealousy of an im» 
tierium in imperio, though not every State is in a condition to give 
expression to it. England has indulged that jealousy to the full, 
and has assumed a bearing towards the military profession much 
the same as she shows towards the ecclesiastical. There is, in- 
deed, a close analogy between the two powers, both in them- 
selves and in their relation to the State ; and, in order to explain 
the position of the army in England, I cannot do better than re- 
fer to the position which in this country has been assigned to the 
Church. The Church and the Army are respectively the instru* 
ments of moral and material force, and are real powers in their 
own respective fields of operation. They necessarily have com- 
mon sympathies and an intense esprit de corps. They are, in con- 
sequence, me strongest supports or the most formidable opponents 
of the State to which they belong, and require to be subjected, 
beyond any mistake, to its sovereignty. In England, sensitively 
suspicious of combination and system, three precautions have 
been taken in dealing with the soldier and the parson — (I hope I 
maybe familiar without offence) — precautions borrowed from the 
necessary treatment of wild animals — (l) to tie him up ; (2) to pare 
his claws ; and (3) to keep him low ; then he will be both safe 
and useful ; — the result is a National Church, and a Constitu- 
tional Army. 

1. In the first place we tie both parson and soldier up, by for- 
bidding each to form one large organization. We prohibit an 
organized religion and an organized force. Instead of one corpo- 
ration in religion, we only allow of a multitude of small ones, as 
chapters and rectories, while we ignore the Establishment as a 
whole, deny it any legal status, and recognize the Dissenting 
bodies. For Universities we substitute Colleges with rival inte- 
rests, that the intellect may not be to? strong for us, as is the 

*33 



*34 



Historical* 



case with some other countries ; we freely multiply local schools, 
for they have no political significance. And in like manner we 
are willing to perfect the discipline and appointment of regi- 
ments, but we instinctively recoil from the idea of an army. We 
toast, indeed, "The Army," but as an abstraction, as we used to 
drink to " The Church," before the present substitution of " The 
Clergy of all Denominations," which has much more of reality in 
it. Moreover, while we have a real reason for sending our troops 
all over the world, shifting them about, using them for garrison 
duty, and for the defence of dependencies, we are thereby able 
also to hide and divide them from one another. Nor is this all ; 
if any organization requires a directing mind at the head of it, it 
is an army ; but, faithful to our Constitutional instincts, we have 
committed its command, ex abundanti cautela, to as many, I be- 
lieve, as five independent boards, whose concurrence is necessary 
for a practical result. Nay, as late occurrences have shown, we 
have thought it a less evil that our troops should be starved in 
the Crimea for want of the proper officer to land the stores, and 
that clothing and fuel shall oscillate to and fro between Balaklava 
and Malta, than that there should be the chance for the smallest 
opening into our political system of a power formidable to na- 
tionalism. Thus we tie up both parson and soldier. 

2. Next, in all great systems and agencies of any kind, there 
are certain accessories, absolutely necessary for their efficiency, 
yet hardly included in their essential idea. Such, to take a very 
small matter, is the use of the bag in making a pudding. Mate- 
rial edifices are no part of religion, but you cannot have religious 
services without them ; nor can you move field-pieces without 
horses, nor get together horses without markets and transports. 
The greater part of these supplemental articles the English Con- 
stitution denies to its religious establishment altogether, and to 
ts army, when not on active service. Fabrics of worship, it en- 
courages ; but it gives no countenance to such ecclesiastical be- 
longings as the ritual and ceremonial of religion, synods, re- 
ligious orders, sisters of charity, and the like necessary instru- 
ments of Christian faith, which zealous Churchmen in times of 
spiritual danger, decay, or promise, make vain endeavors to re- 
store. And such in military matters are the commissariat, tran- 
sport, and medical departments, which are jealously suppressed 
in time of peace, and hastily and grudgingly restored on the com 



English Jealousy of Church and Army. 135 



mencement of hostilities. The Constitutional spirit allows to the 
troops arms and ammunition, as it allows to the clergy ordination 
and two sacraments, neither being really dangerous, while the 
supplements which I have spoken of are withheld. Then it cuts 
their claws. 

3. And lastly, it keeps them low. Though lawyers are edu- 
cated for the law, and physicians for medicine, it is felt among us 
to be dangerous to the Constitution to have real education either 
in the clerical or military profession. Neither theology nor the 
science of war is compatible with a military regime. Military 
and naval science is, in the ordinary Englishman's notion, the 
bayonet and the broadside. Religious knowledge comes by 
nature ; and so far is true, that Anglican divines thump away, 
in exhortation or in controversy, with a manliness, good sense, 
and good-will as thoroughly John Bullish as the stubbornness of 
the Guards at Inkermann. Not that they are forbidden to culti- 
vate theology in private as a personal accomplishment, but that 
they must not bring too much of it into the pulpit, for then they 
become extreme men, Calvinists or Papists, as it may be. A 
general good education, a public school, a knowledge of the 
classics, makes a parson ; and he is chosen for a benefice or a 
dignity, not on any abstract ground of merit, but by the great 
officers of the State, by members of the aristocracy, and by country 
gentlemen, or by their nominees, men who by their position are a 
sufficient guarantee that the nation will continually flow into the 
Establishment, and give it its own color. 

And so of the army ; it is not so many days ago that a gentle- 
man in office assured the House of Commons (if he was correctly 
reported) that the best officers were those who had a University 
education ; and I doubt not it is far better for the troops to be 
disciplined and commanded by good scholars than by incapables 
nd dunces. But in each department professional education is 
eschewed, and it is thought enough that the functionary be a gen- 
tleman. A clergyman is the " resident gentleman "in his parish ; 
and no soldier must rise from the ranks, because he is not M com- 
pany for gentlemen." 

Let no man call this satire, for it is most seriously said ; nor 
have I intentionally colored one sentence in the parallel which I 
have been drawing out ; nor do I speak as grumbling at things 
as they are ; — I merely want to look facts in the face. I have been 



136 



Historical. 



exposing what I consider the weak side in our Constitution, not 
exactly because I want it altered, but because people should not 
consider it the strong side. I think it a necessary weakness. I 
do not see how it can be satisfactorily set right without dangerous 
innovations. ('* Discussions and Arguments," p. 356.) 



IRISH DISCONTENT, 
(I.) 

[An English visitor to Ireland] if he happens to be a Catholic, 
has in consequence a trial to sustain of his own of which the con- 
tinental tourist has no experience from Austrian police, or Rus- 
sian douane, or Turkish quarantine. He has turned his eyes to 
a country bound to him by the ties of a common faith ; and, when 
he lands at Cork or Kingstown, he breathes more freely from the 
thought that he has left a Protestant people behind him, and is 
among his co-religionists. He has but this one imagination before 
his mind, that he is in the midst of those who will not despise him 
for his faith's sake, who name the same sacred names, and utter 
the same prayers, and use the same devotions, as he does himself ; 
whose churches are the houses of his God, and whose numerous 
clergy are the physicians of the soul. He penetrates into the heart 
of the country ; and he recognizes an innocence in the young 
face, and a piety and patience in the aged voice, which strikingly 
and sadly contrast with the habits of his own rural population. 
Scattered over these masses of peasantry, and peasants themselves, 
he hears of a number of lay persons who have dedicated them- 
selves to a religious celibate, and who, by their superior know- 
ledge as well as sanctity, are the natural and ready guides of 
their humble brethren. He finds the population as munificent as 
it is pious, and doing greater works for God out of their poverty, 
than the rich and noble elsewhere accomplish in their abundance. 
He finds them characterized by a love of kindred so tender and 
faithful as to lead them, on their compulsory expatriation, to send 
back from their first earnings in another hemisphere incredible 
sums, with the purpose of bringing over to it those dear ones 



Irish Discontent. 



137 



whom they have left in the old country. And he finds himself re* 
ceived with that warmth of hospitality which ever has been Ire- 
land's boast ; and, as far as he is personally concerned, his biood 
is forgotten in his baptism. How shall he not, under such cir- 
cumstances, exult in his new friends, and feel words deficient to 
express both his deep reverence for their virtues, and his strong 
sympathies in their heavy trials? 

But, alas, feelings which are so just and natural in themselves, 
which are so congruous in the breast of Frenchman or Italian, 
are impertinent in him. He does not at first recollect, as he 
ought to recollect, that he comes among the Irish people as a re- 
presentative of persons, and actions, and catastrophes, which it is 
not pleasant to any one to think about ; that he is responsible for 
the deeds of his forefathers, and of his contemporary Parliaments 
and Executive; that he is one of a strong, unscrupulous, tyran- 
nous race, standing upon the soil of the injured. He does 
not bear in mind that it is as easy to forget injury as it 
is difficult to forget being injured. He does not admit, even 
in his imagination, the judgment and the sentence which the 
past history of Erin sternly pronounces upon him. He has to 
be recalled to himself, and to be taught by what he hears 
around him, that an Englishman has no right to open his heart, 
and indulge his honest affection towards the Irish race, as if no- 
thing had happened between him and them. The voices, so full of 
blessings for their Maker and their own kindred, adopt a very 
different strain and cadence when the name of England is men- 
tioned ; and, even when he is most warmly and generously re- 
ceived by those whom he falls in with, he will be repudiated by 
those who are at a distance. Natural amiableness, religious prin- 
ciple, education, reading, knowledge of the world, and the chari- 
ties of civilization, repress or eradicate these bitter feelings in the 
class in which he finds his friends ; but, as to the population, one 
sentiment of hatred against the oppressor, manet alta mente repos- 
ium. The wrongs which England has inflicted are faithfully remem- 
bered ; her services are viewed with incredulity or resentment ; 
her name and fellowship are abominated ; the news of her pros- 
perity heard with disgust ; the anticipation of her possible reverses 
nursed and cherished as the best of consolations. The success 
of France and Russia over her armies, of Yankee or Hindoo, is 
fervently desired as the first instalment of a debt accumulated 



138 



Historical. 



through seven centuries ; and that, even though those armies arc 
in so large a proportion recruited from the Irish soil. If he ven- 
tures at least to ask for prayers for England, he receives one an- 
swer — a prayer that she may receive her due. It is as if the air 
rang with the old Jewish words, " O daughter of Babylon, blessed 
shall he be who shall repay thee as thou has paid to us !" 

(id 

It is remarkable that the Holy See, to whose initiative the 
union of the two countries is historically traceable, is in no re- 
spect made chargeable by the Irish people with the evils which 
have resulted to them from it. And the fact itself is remarkable 
that the Holy See really should be responsible for that initiative. 
There are other nations in the world ill-matched besides the Eng- 
lish and Irish. There are other instances of the rule of strangers^ 
and of the compulsory submission of the governed ; but the Pope 
cannot be called to account for such political arrangements. The 
Pope did not give Greece to the Sublime Porte, or Warsaw to 
Russia, or Venice to Austria, or Belgium to Holland, or Norway 
to Sweden, or the cities of the Rhine to Prussia, the Septinsular 
Republic to England ; but, even had he done so, still in some of 
these instances, he would have but united together members of 
one race — German to German, Fleming to Fleming, Slave to 
Slave. But it is certainly most remarkable that a power so au- 
thoritative, even when not divine, so sagacious, even when not 
supernatural ; whose acts are so literally the personal acts of the 
Pontiff who represents it for the time being, yet of such solemn 
force ana such tremendous permanence ; which, by appealing to 
its present prerogatives, involves itself in its past decisions, which 
"openeth, and no man shutteth, and shutteth, and no man open- 
eth ; n — it does we say require some explanation* how an oracle 

* [The explanation Dr. Newman offers is, that the u object n of the Holy See in 
annexing Ireland to the English crown in the twelfth century was "a religion* 
one," while M the circumstantial evils in which it had no real part were temporal." 
The Irish were "lapsing back to barbarism," and 44 it was surely incumbent on 
the power which had converted them to interfere." The remedy the Pope ap- 
plied was to send against them the Normans — 41 the soldiers of a young and am- 
bitious power, first to reform, then secondly to unite them together." 44 In mat 
ter of fact, the policy which he pursued towards Ireland, is precisely that which 



Irish Disconteni. 



*39 



so high and irrefragable should have given its religious sanction 
lo a union apparently so unblessed, and which at the end of 
seven centuries is as devoid of moral basis or of effective accom- 
plishment, as it was at the commencement. What time German 
and Italian, Turk and Greek, shall be contented with each other ; 
when " the lion and the sheep shall abide together," and " the 
calf and the bear shall feed," — then, it will be argued, will there 
be a good understanding between two nations so contradictory the 
one of the other — the one an old immemorial race, the other the 
composite of a hundred stocks ; the one possessed of an antique 
civilization, the other civilized by Christianity ; the one glorying 
in its schools and its philosophy, the other in its works and insti- 
tutions ; the one subtle, acute, speculative, the other wise, patient, 
energetic ; the one admiring and requiring the strong arm of des- 
potic rule, the other spontaneously developing itself in methods 
of self-government and of individual competition. And yet, not 
once or twice only has the Holy See recognized in Ireland a terri- 
tory of the English Crown. Adrian IV., indeed, the first Pope 
who countenanced the invasion of Henry II., was an Englishman ; 
but not on his bull did Henry rely for the justification of his pro- 
ceedings. He did not publish it in Ireland till he had received a 
confirmatory brief from Alexander III. Nor was Alexander the 
only Pope who distinctly recognized it; John XXII., a hundred 
and sixty years afterwards, refers to it in his brief addressed to 
Edward II.* 

Such have been the dealings of the Holy See in times past with 
Ireland ; yet it has not thereby roused against itself any resentful 
feelings in the minds of its natives. Doubtless, their good sense 
understands well that, whatever be decided about the expedience 
of the act of annexation itself, its serious evils did not begin until 
the English monarchy was false to the Pope as well as to Ireland. 
Up to that date the settlers in the conquered soil became so at 
tached and united to it and its people, that, according to the pro- 
verb, they were Hibernis hiberniores. It is Protestantism which 
has been the tyrannical oppressor of the Irish ; and we suppose 

he had adopted towards England a century earlier, except that its concomitants 
in the case of England were far more penal, in severity at least if not in dura- 
tion." See the paper (unfortunately unfinished) from which the above extract is 
taken, "The Northmen and Normans in England and Ireland."] 
* Lanigan, vol. iv. pp. 165-6. 



140 



Historical. 



that Protestantism neither asked nor needed letters apostolic 01 

consecrated banner to encourage it in the war it waged against 
Irish Catholicism. Neither Cromwell nor William of Nassau 
waited for the Pope's leave or sought his blessing in his military 
operations against Ireland, anymore than Queen Victoria appeals 
to the Pope's grant for her title of Defender of the Faith, though 
from the Pope it was originally derived. The Tudor, not the 
Plantagenet, introduced the iron age of Ireland. (" Hist. Sketch- 
es," vol. iii. p. 257.) 



THE NORTHMAN CHARACTER. 

Though of the same stock as the Saxons, the Northmen were 
gifted with a more heroic cast of soul. Perhaps it was the pecu- 
liar scenery and climate of their native homes which suggested to 
them such lofty aspirations, and such enthusiastic love of dangers 
and hardship. The stillness of the desert may fill the fierce Arab 
with rapturous enjoyment,* and the interminable forests of Bri- 
tain or Germany might breathe profound mystery ; but the icy 
mountains and the hoars,e resounding waves of the North nur- 
tured warriors of a princely stature, both in mind and body, be- 
fitting the future occupants of European thrones. Cradled in the 
surge and storm, they were spared the temptation of indolence 
and luxury ; they neither worshipped the vivifying powers of 
nature with the Greek, nor with the Sabean did they kiss the hand 
to the bright stars of heaven ; but while they gave a personal pre- 
sence and volition to the fearful or the beautiful spirits which 
haunted the mountains, or lay in ambush in the mist, they under- 
stood by daily experience that good could not be had by the mere 
wishing, and they made it a first article in their creed that their 
reward was future, and that their present must be toil. 

The light and gloom, the nobleness, the sternness, and the fan- 
cifulness of the Northman character, are admirably portrayed in 
the romantic tales of Fouque. At one time he brings before us 

* 41 A young French renegade confessed to Chateaubriand that he never found 
himself alone, galloping in the desert, without a sensation approaching to rapture, 
which was indescribable. " (Notes to " The Bride of Abydos.'*) 



The Northman Character. 



141 



the honor-loving Froda, the friend of the Skalds, who had been 
taught in the book of a learned Icelander how the Lady Aslauga, 
a hundred years and more before, had, in her golden veil of flow- 
ing hair, won the love of King Ragnar Lodbrog, and who, smit 
with devotion to her, saw from time to time the sudden appari- 
tion of his bright queen in the cloudy autumn sky, animating him 
to great and warlike deeds. At another time it is the Lady Min- 
netrost, the good Druda, far up upon the shores of the Baltic, on 
her high, moonlit tower, with her long white finger lifted up and 
pointing to the starry sky. Then, again, we have the tall slim 
form of the beautiful Sigrid, with her large blue eyes, singing her 
charm, gathering witch-herbs, and brewing her witch-draught, 
which makes heroes invincible in fight, and works in the banquet 
a black mysterious woe. Then we have the gigantic forms of men 
on the islands of the lake, with massive breastplates and huge 
brazen bucklers, and halberts so high that they seemed like the 
masts of vessels. And then the vessel comes in sight, ready 
for the use of the sea-knights in their pirate expeditions, and off 
they go over the bounding waves, on their terrible errands of blood 
and fire, to gain immortal glory by inflicting untold pain. And 
suddenly appears one of them at a marriage-feast in Normandy, 
the sea-king Arinbiorn, one of those warriors in the high coast 
country who own little or nothing on the main land, but who sail 
round the earth in their light barks, in the company of brave and 
devoted followers, passing from one side of the North Cape, nay, 
even from distant Iceland down to imperial Constantinople, or 
along the coast of blooming Asia, or of burning Africa, where 
almost all other seamen are at fault. And at another time we are 
shown the spectres of remorse, and death and judgment; and the 
living forms of pride, passion, and temptation, in the history of 
the troubled child of the fierce warrior of Drontheim. And, on 
the other hand, the pattern knight and his lady bright coming 
back to their old country from the plains of Frank-land, and 
presenting to the savage northern race the very ideal which they 
vaguely sought after, but could not adumbrate ; and the pale, 
dark-haired Sintram, calmed and vanquished by the voice and 
lute of the fair Gabrielle. 

This of course is romance ; but it may be taken as an anticipa- 
tion of what the Northmen became in the Normans. (" Historica* 
Sketches," vol. iii. p. 290.) 



142 



Historical. 



NORTHMAN AND NORMAN. 

The most obvious and prominent point of character common 
to the Northman and Norman is the peculiarity of their warlike 
heroism. War was their life ; it was almost their sutnmum bonum ; 
good in itself, though nothing came of it. 

The impetuosity of the Norman relieved itself in extravagancies, 
and raises a smile from its very intensity; at one time becoming 
a religious fanaticism, at another a fantastic knight-errantry. His 
very worship was to do battle ; his right of sacrifice was a passage 
of arms. He couched his lance to prove the matter-of-fact that 
his lady was the beautifullest of all conceivable women ; he drew 
his sword on the blasphemer to convince him of the sanctity of 
the Gospel ; and he passed abruptly from demolishing churches 
and burning towns to the rescue of the Holy Sepulchre from the 
unclean infidel. In the Northmen, too, this pride of demolition 
had been their life-revel. They destroyed for destroyings-sake ; 
because it was good to destroy ; it was a display of power, and 
power made them gods. They seemed as though they were 
possessed by some inward torment which needed outlet, and 
which degraded them to the madness of their own Berserkirs in 
the absence of some nobler satisfaction. Their fearful activity 
was their mode of searching out something great, they knew not 
what, the idea of which haunted them. It impelled them to those 
sudden descents and rapid careerings about a country, of which 
we have already spoken, and which, even in modern times, have 
their parallels in the characteristic energy of Gustavus and Charles 
XII. of Sweden. 

Hence, too, when they had advanced some steps in the path of 
civilization, from this nature or habit of restlessness, they could 
not bear neutrality ; they interfered actively in the cause of right, 
in proportion as they gave up the practice of wrong. When they 
began to find out that piracy was criminal, instead of having 
recourse to peaceful occupations, they found an occupation cognate 
to piracy itself in putting piracy down. Kings, indeed, would 
naturally undertake such a mission, for piracy interfered with their 
sovereign power, and would not die of itself. It was not wonder- 
ful that Harold, Haco the Good, and St. Olaf should hang the 
pirates and destroy their vessels, but the point of our remark is 



Northman and Norman. 



143 



this, that they pursued the transgressors with the same furious 
zeal with which they had heretofore committed the same transgres- 
sions themselves. It is sometimes said that a reformed profligate 
is the sternest of moralists ; and these northern rovers, on their 
conversion, did penance for their own piracy by a relentless perse- 
cution of pirates. They became knight-errants on water, devoting 
themselves to hardship and peril in the protection of the peaceful 
merchant. Under Canute of Denmark, a confraternity was 
formed with this object. Its members characteristically began by 
seizing on vessels not their own for its prosecution, and imposing 
compulsory loans on the wealthy trader for their outfit, though they 
professed to indemnify their owners out of the booty ultimately 
secured. Before they went on board they communicated ; they 
lived soberly and severely, restricting themselves to as few follow- 
ers as possible. When they found Christians in the captured 
ships, they set them at liberty, clothed them, and sent them home. 
In this way as many as eight hundred pirate vessels were de- 
stroyed. 

Sometimes, in spite of their reformation, they still pursued a 
pirate's trade ; but it was a modified piracy. They put themselves 
under laws in the exercise of it, and waged war against those who 
did not observe them. The objects of their hostility were what 
Turner calls " indiscriminate " pirates. " Their peculiar and self- 
chosen task," he says, "was to protect the defenceless navigator, 
and to seek and assail the indiscriminate plunderer. The pirate 
gradually became hunted down as the general enemy of the human 
race." He goes on to mention some of the laws imposed by 
Hialmar upon himself and some other discriminating pirates, to 
the effect that they would protect trade and agriculture, that they 
would not force women into their ships against their will, and 
that they would not eat raw flesh. 

Now in what we have been drawing out there is enough to show 
both the elementary resemblance of character, and yet the vast dis* 
similitude, between the Scandinavian and the Norman. ( u Hist* 
Sketches," vol. HI. p. 295.) 



144 



Historical. 



ATHENS. 

If we would know what a University is y considered in its most 
elementary idea, we must betake ourselves to the first and most 
celebrated home of European civilization, to the bright and beau- 
tiful Athens, — Athens, whose schools drew to her bosom, and then 
sent back to the business of life, the youth of the western world 
for a long thousand years. Seated on the verge of the continent, 
the city seemed hardly suited for the duties of a central metropo- 
lis of knowledge ; yet what it lost in convenience of approach, it 
gained in its neigborhood to the traditions of the mysterious East, 
and in the loveliness of the region in which it lay. Hither, then, 
as to a sort of ideal land, where all the archetypes of the great 
and the fair were found in substantial being, and all departments of 
truth explored, and all diversities of intellectual power exhibited ; 
where taste and philosophy were majestically enthroned as in a 
royal court ; where there was no sovereignty but that of mind, and 
no nobility but that of genius ; when professors were rulers and 
princes did homage,— hither flocked continually from the very 
corners of the orbis terrarum y the many-tongued generation, just 
rising or just risen into manhood, in order to gain wisdom. 

Pisistratus had in an early age discovered' and nursed the infant 
genius of his people, and Cimon, after the Persian war, had given 
it a home ; that war had established the naval supremacy of Ath- 
ens ; she had become an imperial state ; and the Ionians, bound 
to her by the double chain of kindred and of subjection, were im- 
porting into her both their merchandise and their civilization. 
The arts and philosophy of the Asiatic Court were easily carried 
across the sea, and there was Cimon, as I have said, with his 
ample fortune, ready to receive them with due honor. Not con- 
tent with patronizing their profession, he built the first of those 
noble porticos, of which we hear so much in Athens, and he formed 
he groves, which in process of time formed the celebrated acade- 
ny. Planting is one of the most graceful, as in Athens it was 
one of the most beneficent, of employments. Cimon took in hand 
the wild wood, pruned and dressed it, and laid it out with hand- 
some walks and welcome fountains. Nor, while hospitable to 
the authors of the city's civilization, was he ungrateful to the instru- 
ments of her prosperity. His trees extended their cool, umbrage* 



Athens. 



ous branches over the merchants who assembled in the Agora, for 
many generations. 

Those merchants certainly had deserved that act of bounty ; for 
all the while their ships had been carrying forth the intellectual 
fame of Athens to the western world. Then commenced what may 
be called her University existence. Pericles, who succeeded Ci« 
mon, both in the Government and in the patronage of art, is said 
by Plutarch to have entertained the idea of making Athens the 
capital of federated Greece ; in this he failed ; but his encouiage- 
ment of such men as Phidias and Anaxagoras led the way to her 
acquiring a far more lasting sovereignty over a far wider empire. 
Little understanding the sources of her own greatness, Athens 
would go to war ; peace is the interest of a seat of commerce and 
the arts ; but to war she went ; yet to her, whether peace or war, 
it mattered not. The political power of Athens waned and disap- 
peared ; kingdoms rose and fell ; centuries rolled away, — they did 
but bring fresh triumphs to the city of the poet and the sage. 
There at length the swarthy Moor and Spaniard were seen to meet 
the blue-eyed Gaul ; and the Cappadocian, late subject of Mithri- 
dates, gazed without alarm at the haughty conquering Ronan, 
Revolution after revolution passed over the face of Europe, as 
well as of Greece, but still she was there, — Athens, the city of the 
mind, as radiant, as splendid, as delicate, as young, as ever she 
had been. 

Many a more fruitful coast or isle is washed by the blue y£gean, 
many a spot is there more beautiful or sublime to see, many a 
territory more ample ; but there was one charm in Attica, which in 
the same perfection was nowhere else. The deep pastures of Arca- 
dia, the plain of Argos, the Thessalian vale, these had not the 
gift ; Bceotia, which lay to its immediate north, was notorious foi 
the very want of it. The heavy atmosphere of that Bceotia might 
be good for vegetation, but it was associated in popular belief with 
the dulness of the Boeotian intellect ; on the contrary 7 , the specia, 
purity, elasticity, clearness, and salubrity of the air of Attica, fit 
concomitant and emblem of its genius, did that for it which earth 
did not ; — it brought out every bright line and tender shade of the 
landscape over which it was spread, and would have illuminated 
the face even of a more barren and rugged country. 

A confined triangle, perhaps fifty miles its greatest length, and 
thirty its greatest breadth ; two elevated rocky barriers meeting 



i 4 6 



Historical, 



at an angle ; three prominent mountains, commanding the plain, — - 

Parnes, Pentelicus, and Hymettus ; an unsatisfactory soil ; some 
streams, not always fall ; — such is about the report which The 
agent of a London company would have made of Attica. He would 
report that the climate was mild, the hills were limestone; there 
was plenty of good marble ; more pasture land than at first survey 
might have been expected, sufficient certainly for sheep and goats ; 
fisheries productive ; silver mines once, but long since worked 
out ; figs fair ; oil first-rate ; olives in profusion. But what he 
would not think of noting down was, that that olive tree was so 
choice in nature and so noble in shape, that it excited a religious 
veneration, and that took so kindly to the light soil, as to expand 
into woods upon the open plain, and to climb up and fringe the 
hills. He would not think of writing word to his employer, how 
that clear air, of which I have spoken, brought out, yet blended 
and subdued, the colors on the marble, till they had a softness 
and harmony, for all their richness, which in a picture looks exag- 
gerated, yet is after all within the truth. He would not tell how 
that same delicate and brilliant atmosphere freshened up the pale 
olive, until the olive forgot its monotony, and its cheek glowed 
like the arbutus or beech of the Umbrian hills. He would say 
nothing of the thyme and thousand fragrant herbs which carpeted 
Hymettus ; he would hear nothing of the hum of its bees, nor 
take much account of the rare flavor of its honey, since Sozo and 
Minorca were sufficient for the English demand. He would look 
over the ^Egean from the height he had ascended ; he would fol- 
low with his eye the chain of islands, which, starting from the 
Sunian headland, seemed to offer the fabled divinities of Attica, 
when they would visit their Ionian cousins, a sort of viaduct there- 
to across the sea ; but that fancy would not occur to him, nor any 
admiration of the dark violet billows with their white edges down 
below ; nor of those graceful, fan-like jets of silver upon the 
rocks, which slowly rise aloft like water spirits from the deep, 
then shiver and break, and spread, and shroud themselves, and 
disappear, in a soft mist of foam ; nor of the gentle, incessant 
heaving and panting of the whole liquid plain ; nor of the long 
waves, keeping steady time, like a line of soldiery, as they resound 
upon the hollow shore — he would not deign to notice that restless 
living element at all, except to bless his stars that he was not upon 
it. Nor the distinct detail, nor the refined coloring, nor the grace- 



Athens. 



ful outline and roseate golden line of the jutting crags, nor the 
bold shadows cast from Otus or Laurium by the declining sun — - 
our agent of a mercantile firm would not value these matters even at 
alow figure. Rather we must turn for the sympathy we seek to yon 
pilgrim student, come from a semi-barbarous land to that small 
corner of the earth, as to a shrine, where he might take his fill of 
gazing on those emblems and coruscations of invisible, unorigin- 
ate perfection. It was the stranger from a remote province, from 
Britain or from Mauritania, who in a scene so different from that 
of his chilly, woody swamps, or of his fiery, choking sands, learn- 
ed at once what a real University must be, by coming to under- 
stand the sort of country which was its suitable home. 

Nor was this all that a University required and found in Athens. 
No one, not even there, could live on poetry. If the students at 
that famous place had nothing better than bright hues and sooth- 
ing sounds they would not have been able or disposed to turn 
their residence there to much account. Of course they must have 
the means of living, nay, in a certain sense, of enjoyment, if 
Athens was to be an alma mater at the time, or to remain afterwards 
a pleasant thought in their memory. And so they had : be it re- 
collected Athens was a port and a mart of trade, perhaps the first 
in Greece, and strangers were ever flocking to it, whose combat 
was to be with intellectual, not physical difficulties, and who 
claimed to have their bodily wants supplied that they might be at 
leisure to set about furnishing their minds. Now barren as was 
the soil of Attica, and bare the face of the country, yet it had 
only too many resources for an elegant, nay luxurious, abode 
there. So abundant were the imports of the place, that it was a 
common saying, that the productions which were found singly 
elsewhere were brought altogether in Athens. Corn and wine, the 
staple of existence in such a climate, came from the islands of the 
^Egean ; fine wool and carpeting from Asia Minor ; slaves, as 
now, from the Euxine ; and timber too, and iron and brass, from 
the coasts of the Mediterranean. The Athenian did not conde. 
scend to manufactures himself, but encouraged them in others 
and a population of foreigners caught at the lucrative occupation, 
both for home consumption and for exportation. Their cloth and 
other textures for dress and furniture, and their hardware — for 
instance, armor — were in great request. Labor was cheap ; stone 
and marble in plenty ; and the taste and skill, which at first were 



148 



Historical. 



devoted to public buildings, as temples and porticos, were in 
course of time applied to the mansions of public men. If nature 
did much for Athens, it is undeniable that art did much more, 
(" Hist. Sketches," vol. in. p. 18.) 



OXFORD. 

Alas ! for centuries past that city has lost its prime honor and 
boast as a servant and soldier of the truth. Once named the 
second school of the Church, second only to Paris, the foster- 
mother of St. Edmund, St. Richard, St. Thomas Cantilupe ; the 
theatre of great intellects ; of Scotus the subtle doctor, of Hales 
the irrefragable, of Occam the special, of Bacon "the admirable, of 
Middleton the solid, and of Bradwardine the profound, Oxford 
has now lapsed to the level of mere human loveliness, which, in 
its highest perfection, we admire in Athens. Nor would it have 
a place, now or hereafter, in these pages, nor would it occur to me 
to speak its name, except that — even in its sorrowful depriva- 
tion — it still retains so much of that outward lustre which, like 
the brightness on the prophet's face, ought to be a ray from an 
illumination within, as to afford mean illustration of the point on 
which I am engaged, viz., what should be the material dwelling- 
place and appearance, the local circumstances and the secular 
concomitants, of a great University. Pictures are drawn in tales 
of romance of spirits seemingly too beautiful in their fall to be 
really fallen ; and the holy Pope at Rome, Gregory, in fact and not 
in fiction, looked upon the blue eyes and golden hair of the fierce 
Saxon youth in the slave market, and pronounced them Angels, 
not Angles ; and the spell which this once loyal daughter of the 
Church still exercises upon the foreign visitor, even now, when 
her true glory is departed, suggests to us how far more majestic and 
more touching, how brimful of indescribable influence would be 
the presence of a University, which was planted within, not with- 
out Jerusalem, — an influence, potent as her truth is strong, wide 
as her sway is world-wide and growing, not lessening, by the ex- 
tent of space over which its attraction would be exerted. e - - 

There are those who, having felt the influence of this ancient 



St. Benedict and Early Monachism. 



* ia^ol, and being smit with its splendor and its sweetness, ask 
Wvotfully, if never again it is to be Catholic, or whether, at least, 
some footing for Catholicity may not be found there. All honor 
and merit to the charitable and zealous hearts who so enquire ! 
Nor can we dare to tell what in time to come may be the inscru- 
table puposes of that grace, which is ever more comprehensive 
than human hope or aspiration. But for me, from the day I left 
its walls, I never, for good or bad, have had anticipation of its fu- 
ture ; and never for a moment have I had a wish to see again a 
place, which I have never ceased to love, and where I lived for 
nearly thirty years. (" Hist. Sketches," vol. iil p. 28.) 



ST. BENEDICT AND EARLY MONACHISM. 

St. Benedict had taken up for the most part what he found, 
and his Rule was but the expression of the genius of Monachism 
in those first times of the Church, with a more exact adaptation to 
their needs than could elsewhere be found. So uniform, indeed, 
had been the Monastic idea before his time, and so little stress 
had been laid by individual communities on their respective pe- 
culiarities, that religious men passed at pleasure from one body 
to another. St. Benedict provides in his Rule for the case of 
strangers coming to one of his houses and wishing to remain there. 
If such a one came from any Monastery with which the Monks 
had existing relations, then he was not to be received without letters 
from his Abbot ; but, in the instance of ''a foreign Monk from 
distant parts," who wished to dwell with them as a guest, and was 
content with their ways and conformed himself to them, and was 
not troublesome, " should he in the event wish to stay for good," 
says St. Benedict, u let him not be refused, for there has been room 
to make trial of him during the time that hospitality has been shown 
to him ; nay, let him even be invited to stay, that others may gain 
a lesson from his example ; for in every place we are servants of 
one Lord, and soldiers of one King." 

The unity of idea, which, as these w^ords impl}*, is to be found 
in all Monks in every part of Christendom, may be described as a 
anity of object, of state, and of occupation. Monachism was one 



Historical. 



and the same everywhere, because it was a reaction from that 
secular life which has everywhere the same structure and the 
same characteristics. And, since that secular life contained in it 
many objects, many states, and many occupations, here was a 
special reason, as a matter of principle, why the reaction from it 
should bear the badge of unity, and should be in outward appear- 
ance one and the same everywhere. Moreover, since that same 
secular life was, when Monachism arose, more than ordinarily 
marked by variety, perturbation, and confusion, it seemed on that 
very account to justify emphatically a rising and revolt against 
itself, and a recurrence to some state which, unlike itself, was 
constant and unalterable. It was indeed an old, decayed, and 
moribund world, into which Christianity had been cast. The 
social fabric was overgrown with the corruptions of a thousand 
years, and was held together, not so much by any common prin- 
ciple, as by the strength of possession and the tenacity of custom. 
It was too large for public spirit, and too artificial for patriotism, 
and its many religions did but foster in the popular mind division 
and scepticism. Want of mutual confidence would lead to de- 
spondency, inactivity, and selfishness. Society was in the slow 
fever of consumption, which made it restless in proportion as it 
was feeble. It was powerful, however, to seduce and to deprave ; 
nor was there any locus standi from which to combat its evils ; 
and the only way of getting on with it was to abandon principle 
and duty, to take things as they came, and to do as the world did. 
Worse than all, this encompassing, entangling system of things, 
was, at the time we speak of, the seat and instrument of a Pagan- 
ism, and then of heresies, not simply contrary, but bitterly hostile, 
to the Christian profession. Serious men not only had a call, 
but every inducement which love of life and freedom could sup- 
ply, to escape from its presence and its sway. 

Their one idea, then, their one purpose, was to be quit of it ; 
too long had it enthralled them. It was not a question of this oi 
that vocation, of the better deed, of the higher state ; but of life 01 
death. In later times a variety of holy objects might present 
themselves for devotion to choose from, such as the care of the 
poor, or of the sick, or of the young, the redemption of captives 
or the conversion of the barbarians, but early Monachism was 
Bight from the world, and nothing else. The troubled, jaded, 
tveary heart, the stricken, laden conscience, sought a life free 



S/. Benedict and Early Monachism* 



from corruption in its daily work, free from distraction in its daily 
worship ; and it sought employments as contrary as possible to 
the world's employments — employments, the end of which would 
be in themselves, in which each day, each hour, would have its 
own completeness — no elaborate undertakings, no difficult aims, 
no anxious ventures, no uncertainties to make the heart beat or 
the temples throb, no painful combination of efforts, no extended 
plan of operations, no multiplicity of details, no deep calculations, 
no sustained machinations, no suspense, no vicissitudes, no 
moments of crisis or catastrophe — nor, again, any subtle investi- 
gations, nor perplexities of proof, nor conflicts of rival intellects, 
to agitate, harass, depress, stimulate, weary, or* intoxicate the 
soul. 

Hitherto I have been using negatives to describe what the 
primitive Monk was seeking ; in truth, Monachism was, as regards 
the secular life and all that it implies, emphatically a negation, or, 
to use another word, a ??wrtiJication ; a mortification of sense and 
a mortification of reason. Here a word of explanation is neces- 
sary. The Monks were too good Catholics to deny that reason is 
a divine gift, and had too much common sense to think to do 
without it. What they denied themselves was the various and 
manifold exercises of the reason ; and on this account, because 
such exercises were excitements. When the reason is cultivated, 
it at once begins to combine, to centralize, to look forward, to 
look back, to view things as a whole, whether for speculation or 
for action ; it practises synthesis and analysis, it discovers, it in- 
vents. To these exercises of the intellect is opposed simplicity, 
which is the state of mind which does not combine, does not deal 
with premises and conclusions, does not recognize means and 
their end, but lets each work, each place, each occurrence stand 
by itself — which acts towards each as it comes before it, without a 
though ' anything else. This simplicity is the temper of chil- 
dren, and it is the temper of Monks. This was their mortification 
of the intellect ; every man who lives must live by reason, ag 
every one must live by sense ; but as it is possible to be content 
with the bare necessities of animal life, so is it possible to confine 
ourselves to the bare ordinary use of reason, without caring to 
improve it, or make the most of it. These Monks held both 
sense and reason to be the gifts of heaven ; but they used each of 
them as little as they could help, reserving their full time and 



Historical. 



their whole selves for devotion — for, if reason is better than sense 
so devotion they thought to be better than either ; and, as even 
a heathen might deny himself the innocent indulgences of sense 
In order to give his time to the cultivation of the reason, so did 
the Monks give up reason, as well as sense, that they might con- 
secrate themselves to divine meditation. 

Now, then, we are able to understand how it was that the 
Monks had a unity, and in what it consisted. It was a unity, I 
have said, of object, of state, and of occupation. Their object was 
rest and peace ; their state was retirement ; their occupation was 
some work that was simple, as opposed to intellectual, viz., 
prayer, fasting, meditation, study, transcription, manual labor, 
and other unexciting, soothing employments. Such was their 
institution all over the world ; they had eschewed the busy mart, 
the craft of gain, the money-changer's bench, and the merchant's 
cargo. They had turned their backs upon the wrangling forum, 
the political assembly, and the pantechnicon of trades. They had 
had their last dealings with architect and habit-maker, with 
butcher and cook ; all they wanted, all they desired, was the 
sweet soothing presence of earth, sky, and sea, the hospitable 
cave, the bright running stream, the easy gifts which mother earth, 
"justissima tellus," yields on very little persuasion. "The 
monastic institute," says the biographer of St. Maurus, " demands 
summa quies, the most perfect quietness " : and where was quiet- 
ness to be found, if not in reverting to the original condition of 
man, as far as the changed circumstances of our race admitted ; 
in having no wants, of which the supply was not close at hand ; 
in the nil admirari ; in having neither hope nor fear of anything 
below ; in daily prayer, daily bread, and daily work, one day 
being just like another, except that it was one step nearer than 
the day before it to that great day, which would swallow up all 
da\s, the day of everlasting rest? ("Hist. Sketches/' vol. II., p, 
372 ) 



The Death of SL Bede. 



THE DEATH OF ST. BEDE. 

Here the beautiful character in life and death of St. Bede 
naturally occurs to the mind, who is, in his person and his 
writings, as truly the pattern of a Benedictine as is St. Thomas 
of a Dominican ; and with an extract from the letter of Cuthbert 
to Cuthwin concerning his last hours, which, familiarly as it is 
known, is always pleasant to read^ I break off my subject for the 
present. 

" He was exceedingly oppressed, says Cuthbert of St. Bede, 
u with shortness of breathing, though without pain, before Easter 
Day, for about a fortnight : but he rallied, and was full of joy and 
gladness, and gave thanks to Almighty God day and night, and 
every hour, up to Ascension Day; and he gave us, his scholars, 
daily lectures, and passed the rest of the day in singing the 
Psalms, and the night, too, in joy and thanksgiving, except the 
scanty time which he gave to sleep. And as soon as he woke he 
was busy in his customary way, and he never ceased, with up- 
lifted hands, giving thanks to God. I solemnly protest, never 
have I seen or heard of any one who was so diligent in thanks- 
giving. 

" He sang that sentence of the Blessed Apostle Paul, * It is a 
dreadful thing to fall into the hands of the Living God,' and many 
other passages of Scripture, in which he warned us to shake off 
the slumber of the soul, by anticipating our last hour. And he 
sang some verses of his own in English also, to the effect that no 
one could be too well prepared for his end, viz., in calling to 
mind, before he departs hence, what good or evil he has done, and 
how his judgment will lie. And he sang too the antiphons,. 
of which one is, ' O King of glory, Lord of Angels, who this day 
hast ascended in triumph above all the heavens, leave us not 
orphans, but send the promise of the Father upon us, the Spirit 
of Truth. Alleluia.' And when he came to the words, ' leave us 
not orphans,' he burst into tears, and wept much. He said, too, 
4 God scourgeth every son whom He receiveth,' and, with St. Am- 
brose, 1 I have not so lived as to be ashamed to have been among 
you, nor do I fear to die, for we have a good Lord.' 

" In those days, besides our lectures and the Psalmody, he was 
engaged in two works ; he was translating into English the 



*54 



Historical. 



Gospel of St. John, as far as the words, 1 But what are those 
among so many/ and some extracts from the 1 Notae of Isidore.' 
On the Tuesday before Ascension Day, be began to suffer still 
more in his breathing, and his feet were slightly swollen. How- 
ever, he went through the day, dictating cheerfully, and he kept 
saying from time to time, ' Take down what I say quickly, for I 
know not how long I am to last, or whether my Maker will not 
take me soon/ He seemed to us to be quite aware of the time 
of his going, and he passed that night in giving of thanks, without 
sleeping. As soon as morning broke, that is on the Wednesday, 
he urged us to make haste with the writing which we had begun. 
We did so till nine o'clock, when we walked in procession with 
the Relics of the Saints, according to the usage of that day. But 
one of our party said to him, ' Dearest master, one chapter is still 
wanting ; can you bear our asking you about it ? ' He answered, 
* I can bear it ; take your pen and be ready, and write quickly/ 
At three o'clock he said to me, ' Run fast and call our priests, 
that I may divide among them some little gifts which I have in 
my box/ When I had done this in much agitation, he spoke to 
each, urging and entreating them all to make a point of saying 
masses and prayers for him. Thus he passed the day in joy until 
the evening, when the above-named youth said to him, * Dear 
master, there is yet one sentence not written!' He answered, 
' Write quickly. ' Presently the youth said, ' Now it is written ' ; 
he replied, ' Good, thou hast said the truth, consummatum est; 
take my head into thy hands, for it is very pleasant to me to sit 
facing my old praying place, and thus to call upon my Father/ 
And so, on the floor of his cell, he sang, ' Glory be to the Father, 
Son, and Holy Ghost/ and just as he said, i Holy Ghost,' he 
breathed his last, and went to the realms above." 

It is remarkable that this flower of the Benedictine school died 
on the same day as St. Philip Neri, May 26 ; Bede on Ascension 
Day, and Philip on the early morning, after the feast of Corpus 
Chiisti. It was fitting that two Saints should go to heaven to- 
gether, whose mode of going thither was the same ; both of them 
singing, praying, working, and guiding others, in joy and exulta- 
tion till their very last hour. (" Hist. Sketches/' vol. n., p. 428). 



Abelard. 



*55 



ABELARD. 

As the inductive method rose in Bacon, so did the logical in 
the mediaeval schoolmen, and Aristotle, the most comprehensive 
intellect of antiquity, as the one who had conceived' the sublime 
idea of mapping the whole field of knowledge, and subjecting all 
things to one profound analysis, became the presiding master in 
their lecture halls. It was at the end of the eleventh century that 
William of Champeaux founded the celebrated Abbey of St. 
Victor, under the shadow of St. Genevieve. ... Of this Wil- 
liam of Champeaux, Abelard was the pupil. He had studied the 
dialectic art elsewhere, before he offered himself for his instructions, 
and in the course of two years, when as yet he had only reached 
the age of twenty-two, he made such progress as to be capable of 
quarrelling with his master, and setting up a school for him- 
self. . . . 

Great things are done by devotion to one idea ; there is one 
class of geniuses who would never be what they are could they 
grasp a second. The calm philosophical mind which contem- 
plates parts without denying the whole, and the whole without 
confusing the parts, is notoriously indisposed to action ; whereas 
single and simple views arrest the mind, and hurry it on to carry 
them out. Thus men of one idea and nothing more, whatever 
their merit, must be, to a certain extent, narrow-minded, and it is 
not wonderful that Abelard's devotion to the new [scholastic] 
philosophy made him undervalue the seven arts out of which it 
had grown. He felt it impossible so to honor what was now to be 
added, as not to dishonor what existed before. He would not 
suffer the arts to have their own use, since he had found a new 
instrument for anew purpose ; so he opposed the reading of the 
classics. The monks had opposed them before him ; but this is 
little to our present purpose. It was the duty of men who abjured 
the gifts of this world, on the principle of mortification, to deny 
themselves literature, just as they would deny themselves parti* 
cular friendships, or figured music. The doctrine which Abelard 
introduced and represents was founded on a different basis. He 
did not recognize in the poets of antiquity any other merit than 
that of furnishing an assemblage of elegant phrases and figures, 
and accordingly he asks why they should not be banished from 



Historical. 



the city of God, since Plato banished them from his common- 
wealth. The animus of this language is clear when we turn to 
the pages of John of Salisbury, and Peter of Blois, who were 
champions of the ancient learning. We find them complaining 
that the careful " getting up," as we now call it, " of books " was 
growing out of fashion. Youths once studied critically the text of 
poets and philosophers ; they got them by heart ; they analyzed 
their arguments ; they noted down their fallacies ; they were 
closely examined in the matters which had been brought before 
them in lectures ; they composed. But now, another teaching 
was coming in ; students were promised truth in a nut-shell ; 
they intended to get possession of the sum-total of philosophy in 
less than two or three years ; and facts were apprehended, not in 
their substance and details, by means of living, and, as it were, 
personal documents, but in dead abstracts and tables. Such were 
the declamations to which the new logic gave occasion. 

These, however, are lesser matters ; we have a graver quarrel 
with Abelard than that of his undervaluing the classics. . . . 
Wisdom, says the inspired writer, is desursiwi, is pudica, is pacijica, 
"from above, chaste, peaceable/' We have already seen enough 
of Abelard's career to understand that his wisdom, instead of 
being pacijica, was ambitious and contentious. An Apostle speaks 
of the tongue both as a blessing and as a curse. It may be the 
beginning of afire; he says, a " Universitas iniquitatis ; " and, 
alas ! such it became in the mouth of the gifted Abelard. His 
eloquence was wonderful ; he dazzled his contemporaries, says 
Fulco, "by the brilliancy of his genius, the sweetness of his elo- 
quence, the ready flow of his language, and the subtlety of his 
knowledge." People came to him from all quarters ; — from Rome, 
in spite of mountains and robbers ; from England, in spite of the 
sea; from Flanders and Germany; from Normandy, and the 
remote districts of France; from Angers and Poitiers; from 
Navarre by the Pyrenees, and from Spain, besides the students of 
Paris itself; and among those who sought his instructions, now 
cr afterwards, were the great luminaries of the schools in the next 
generation. Such were Peter of Poitiers, Peter Lombard, John 
of Salisbury, Arnold of Brescia, Ivo and Geoffrey of Auxerre. 
It was too much for a weak head and heart ; weak in spite of in- 
tellectual power ; for vanity will possess the head, and worldli 



Abelard. 



iS7 



ness the heart, of the man, however gifted, whose wisdom s not 
an effluence of the Eternal Light. 

True wisdom is not only " pacifica," it is also "pudica;" 
chaste as well as peaceable. Alas for Abelard ! a second dis- 
grace, deeper than ambition, is his portion now. The strong 
man — the Samson of the schools in the wildness of his course, the 
Solomon in the fascination of his genius — shivers and falls before 
the temptation which overcame that mighty pair, the most excel- 
ling in body and in mind. 

Desire of wine, and all delicious drinks, 
Which many a famous warrior overturns, 
Thou could'st repress ; nor did the dancing ruby, 
Sparkling outpoured, the flavor or the smell, 
Or taste, that cheers the heart of gods and men, 
Allure thee from the cool crystalline stream. 
But what availed this temperance not complete 
Against another object more enticing ? 
What boots it at one gate to make defence, 
And at another to let in the foe, 
Effoainately vanquished ? 

In a time when colleges were unknown, and the young scholar 
was thrown upon the dubious hospitality of a great city, Abelard 
might even be thought careful of his honor that he went to lodge 
with an old ecclesiastic, had not his host's niece, Eloisa, lived 
with him. A more subtle snare was laid for him than beset the 
heroic champion, or the all-accomplished monarch of Israel ; for 
sensuality came upon him, under the guise of intellect, and it was 
the high mental endowments of Eloisa, who became his pupil, 
speaking in her eyes, and thrilling on her tongue, which were the 
intoxication and the delirium of Abelard. . . . He is judged; 
he is punished : but he is not reclaimed. True wisdom is not 
only " pacifica," not only " pudica," it is " desursum " too. It is 
a revelation from above ; it knows heresy as little as it knows 
strife or license. But Abelard, who had run the career of earthly 
wisdom in two of its phases, now is destined to represent its 
third. It is at the famous Abbey of St. Denis that we find him 
languidly rising from his dream of sin, and the suffering that fol- 
lowed. The bad dream is cleared away ; clerks come to him, and 
the Abbot, begging him to lecture still, for love now, as for gain 
before. Once more his school is thronged by the curious and the 
studious ; but at length the rumor spreads that Abelard is explor- 



Historical 



!ng the way to some novel view on the subject of the Most Holy 
Trinity. Wherefore is hardly clear, but about the fe ame time the 
monks drive him away from ihe place :>f refuge he had gained. 
He betakes himself to a cell, and thither his pupils follow him. 
"I betook myself to a certain cell," he says, (t wishing to give 
myself to the schools, as was my custom. Thither so great a 
multitude of scholars flocked, that there was neither room to 
hou^ them, nor fruits of the earth to feed them." Such was the 
enthusiasm of the student, such the attraction of the teacher, when 
knowledge was advertised freely, and its market opened. 

Next he is in Champagne, in a delightful solitude near Nogent> 
in the diocese of Troyes. Here the same phenomenon presents 
itself which is so frequent in his history. "When the scholars 
knew it," he says, " they began to crowd thither from all parts ■ 
and leaving other cities and strongholds, they were content to 
dwell in the wilderness. For spacious houses, they framed for 
themselves small tabernacles, and for delicate food they put up 
with wild herbs. Secretly did they whisper among themselves : 
* Behold the whole world is gone out after him!' When, how- 
ever, my Oratory could not hold even a moderate portion of them, 
then they were forced to enlarge it, and to build it up with wood 
and stone." He called the place his u Paraclete," because it had 
been his consolation. 

I do not know why I need follow his life further. I have said 
enough to illustrate the course of one who may be called the 
founder, or at least the first great name of the Parisian schools. 
After the events I have mentioned, he is found in Lower Brittany 
then, being about forty years of age, in the Abbey of St. Gildas; 
then with St. Genevieve again. He had to sustain the fiery elo- 
quence of a Saint, directed against his novelties; he had to pre- 
sent himself before two Councils ; he had to burn the book which 
had given offence to pious ears. His last two years were spent at 
Clugni, on his way to Rome. The home of the weary, the school 
of the erring, the tribunal of the penitent, is the city of St. Peter. 
He did not reach it ; but he is said to have retracted what had 
given scandal in his writings, and to have made an edifying end. 
He died at the age of sixty-two, in the year of grace 1142. 

In reviewing his career, the career of so great an intellect so 
miserably thrown away, we are reminded of the famous words ol 
the dying scholar and jurist, which -are a lesson to us all : " Heu, 



Death of St. Gregory VIL 



vitam perdidi, operose nihil agendo." A happier lot be ours 1 
("Hist. Sketches," vol. in. p. 195.) 



POPE LIBERIUS. 

When Arianism broke out, it was Athanasius and the Egyptians 
who were "faithful found among the faithless ; " even the Infalli- 
ble See . . . [was] not happy in the man who filled it. Libe- 
rius . , . anathematized Athanasius on a point on which Athan- 
asius was right and Liberius was wrong. [But] it is astonishing 
to me how any one can fancy that Liberius in subscribing the 
Arian confessions, promulgated them ex cathedra, considering he 
was not his own master when he signed them, and that they were 
not his drawing up. Who would say that it would be a judgment 
of the Queen's Bench, or a judicial act of any kind, if ribbon-men 
in Ireland seized on one of her Majesty's Judges, hurried him 
into the wilds of Connemara, and there made him, under terror of 
his life, sign a document in the very teeth of an award which he 
had lately made in Court in a question of property. Surely for 
an ex cathedra decision of the Pope is required his formal initia- 
tion of it, his authorship of its wording, and his utterance amid 
his Court, with solemnities parallel to those of an Ecumenical 
Council. It is not a transaction that can be done in his travelling 
dress, in some hedge-side inn, or town tavern, or imperial ser- 
vants'-hall. Liberius' subscription can only claim a Nag's Head's 
sort of infallibility. (" Hist. Sketches," vol. 11. p. 340.) 



DEATH OF ST. GREGORY VII. 

On the 25th of May, 1085, he peacefully closed his earthly career ; 
just rallying strength, amid the exhaustion of his powers, to utter 
with his departing breath the words, "I have loved justice and 
hated iniquity, and therefore I die in exile." 

" In exile I" said a prelate who stood by his bed, . . . " in 
*xile thou canst not die S Vicar of Christ and His Apostles, thou 



i6o 



Historical. 



hast received the nations for thine inheritance, and the uttermost 

parts of the earth for thy possession."* 

Gregory thought he had failed : so it is ; often a cause seems to 
decline as its champion grows in years, and to die in his death ; 
but this is to judge hastily ; others are destined to complete what 
he began. No man is given to see his work through, "Mail 
goeth forth unto his work and to his labor until the evening," but 
the evening falls before it is done. There was One alone who 
began and finished, and died. (" Essays, Crit. and Hist.," vol. H. 
p. 316.) 



ROME AND CONSTANTINOPLE IN 1566. 

St. Pius V. became Pope in 1566. and Selim became Sultan in 
that very same year. What a strange contrast did Rome and 
Constantinople present at that era ! Neither was what it had been.- 
But they had changed in opposite directions. Both had been the 
seat of Imperial Power ; Rome, where heresy never throve, had 
exchanged its Emperor for the succession of St. Peter and St. 
Paul ; Constantinople had passed from secular supremacy into 
schism, and thence into a blasphemous apostasy. The unhappy 
city, which, with its subject provinces had been successively the 
seat of Arianism, of Nes tori an ism, of Ph onanism, now had become 
the metropolis of the false Prophet, and, while in the West, the 
great edifice of the Vatican Basilica was rising anew in its won- 
derful proportions and its costly materials, the Temple of St. 
Sophia in the East was degraded into a Mosque ! O the strange 
contrast in the state of the inhabitants of each place! Here, in 
the city of Cons tan tine, a God-denying misbelief was .accompanied 
by an impure, man-degrading rule of life, by the slavery of worn:-.:: 
and the corruption of youth. But there, in the city which Ap 3S- 
tles had consecrated with their blood, the great and true reforma- 
tion of the age was in full progress. There, the determinations, 
in docrrine and discipline, of the great Council of Trent had 
lately been promulgated. T:;ere, for twenty years past, had 

* [These two sentences are the late Mr. Bowden's. from a review of whose w:r» - 
•n the u Life and Pontificate of Gregory VII." this extract is taken.] 



The Election of St. Pius V. 



161 



labored our own dear Saint, St. Philip, till he earned the title of 
Apostle of Rome, and yet had still nearly thirty years of life and 
work in him. There, too, the romantic royal-minded Saint, 
Ignatius Loyola, had but lately died. And there, when the Holy 
See fell vacant, and a Pope had to be appointed in the great need 
of the Church, a Saint was present in the Conclave to find in it a 
brother Saint, and to recommend him for the Chair of St. Peter, 
to the suffrages of the Fathers and Princes of the Church. (" Hist. 
Sketches," vol. i. p. 150.) 



THE ELECTION OF ST. PIUS V 

St. Carlo Borromeo, the Cardinal Archbishop of Milan, was 
the nephew of the Pope who was just dead, and though he was 
only twenty-five years of age at the time, nevertheless, by the 
various influences arising out of the position which he held, and 
from the weight attached to his personal character, he might be 
considered to sway the votes of the College of Cardinals, and to 
determine the election of a new Pontiff. It is remarkable that 
Cardinal Alessandrino, as St. Pius was then called (from Alex- 
andria in North Italy, near which he was born), was not the first 
object of his choice. His eyes were first turned on Cardinal 
Morone, who was in many respects the most illustrious of the 
Sacred College, and had served the Church on various occasions, 
with great devotion, and with distinguished success. From his 
youth he had been reared up in public affairs ; he had held many 
public offices, he had great influence with the German Emperor ; 
he had been Apostolical Legate at the Council of Trent. He had 
great virtue, judgment, experience, and sagacity. Such, then, was 
the choice of St. Carlo, arid the votes were taken ; but it seemed 
otherwise to the Holy Ghost. He wanted four to make up the 
sufficient number of votes. St. Carlo had to begin again ; and 
again, strange to say, the Cardinal Alessandrino still was not his 
choice. He chose Cardinal Sirleto, a man most opposite in 
character, in history, to Morone. He was not nobly born, he was 
no man of the world, he had ever been urgent wnth the late Pope 
not to make him Cardinal. He was a first-rate scholar in Hebrew, 
Greek, and Latin ; versed in the Scriptures, ready as a theologian 



1 62 Historical. 

Moreover, he was of a character most unblemished, of most inno- 
cent life, and of manners most popular and winninge St. Pius, 
as well as St. Carlo, advocated the cause of Cardinal Sirleto, and 
the votes were given a second time ; a second time they came 
short. It was like holy Samuel choosing Eliab instead of David 
Then matters were in confusion ; one name and another were 
mentioned, and no progress was made. 

At length, and at last, and not till all others were thought of 
who could enter into the minds of the electors, the Cardinal 
Alessandrino himself began to attract attention. He seems not 
to have been known to the Fathers of the Conclave in general ; a 
Dominican Friar, of humble rank, ever taken up in the duties of 
his rule, and his special empioj-ment, living in his cell, knowing 
little or nothing of mankind. Such a one, St. Carlo, the son of a 
prince, and the nephew of a Pope, had no means of knowing ; 
and the intimacy, consequent on their co-operation in behalf of 
Cardinal Sirleto, was the first real introduction which the one 
Saint had to the other. It was just at this moment that our own 
St. Philip was in his small room, at St. Giralamo, with Marcello 
Ferro, one of his spiritual children, when, lifting up his eyes to 
heaven, and going almost into an ecstasy, he said: "The Pope 
will be elected on Monday." On one of the following days, as 
they were walking together, Marcello asked him who was to be 
Pope. Philip answered, " Come, I will tell you. The Pope will 
be one whom you have never thought of, and whom no one has 
spoken of as likely, and that is Cardinal Alessandrino ; and he 
will be elected on Monday evening without fail." The event 
accomplished the prediction ; the statesman and the man of the 
world, the accomplished and exemplary and amiable scholar, 
were put aside to make way for the Saint. He took the name of 
Pius. 

I am far from denying that St. Pius was stern and severe as far 
as a heart burning within, and melting with the fulness of divine 
love, could be so ; and this was the reason that the Conclave was 
so slow in electing him. Yet such energy and vigor as his was 
necessary for his time. He was emphatically a soldier of Christ, 
in a time of insurrection and rebellion, when, in a spiritual sense, 
martial law was proclaimed. St. Philip, a private priest, might 
follow his vent in casting his net for souls, as he expressed him- 
self, and enticing them to the truth ; but the Vicar of Christ had to 



The Election of St Bus V. 163 

right and steer the vessel when it was in rough waters and 
among breakers. A Protestant historian on this point does 
justice to him. "When Pope,' 7 he says, " he lived in all the aus- 
terity of his monastic life, fasted with the utmost rigor and punc? 
tuality ; would wear no finer garments than before, . . . arose 
at an early hour in the morning, and took no siesta. If we 
doubted the depth of his religious earnestness, we may find a 
proof of it in his declaration, that the Papacy was unfavorable to 
his advance in piety ; that it did not contribute to his salvation, 
and to his attainment of Paradise; and that, but for prayer, the 
burden had been too heavy for him. The happiness of a fervent 
devotion, which often moved him to tears, was granted him to the 
end of his life. The people were incited to enthusiasm when they 
saw him walking in piocession, bare-footed and bare-headed, 
with the expression of unaffected piety in his countenance, and 
with his long snow-white beard falling on his breast. They 
thought there had never been so pious a Pope. They told each 
other how his very look had converted heretics. Pius was kind, 
too, and affable ; his intercourse with his old servants was of the 
most confidential kind. At a former period, before he was Pope, 
the Count Delia Trinita had threatened to have him thrown into 
a well ; and he had replied, that it must be as God pleased. How 
beautiful was his greeting to this same Count, who was now sent 
as ambassador to his Court ! ' See,' said he, when he recognized 
him, 'how God preserves the innocent.' This was the only way 
in which he made him feel that he recollected his enmity. He 
had ever been most charitable and bounteous : he kept a list of 
the poor of Rome, whom he regularly assisted according to their 
station and their wants." The writer, after proceeding to con- 
demn what he considers his severity, ends thus : " It is certain 
that his deportment and mode of thinking exercised an incalcula- 
ble influence on his contemporaries, and on the general develop- 
ment of the Church, of which he was the head. After so many 
circumstances had concurred to excite and foster a religious spirit, 
after so many resolutions and measures had been taken to exalt 
it to universal dominion, a Pope like this was needed, not only 
to proclaim it to the world, but also to reduce it to practice. His 
seal and his example combined produced the most powerful 
tffect." * (" Hist. Sketches," vol. 1. p. 151.) 

♦ Ranke's Hist, of the Popes. 



164 



Historical. 



THE BATTLE OF LEPANTO. 

It is not to be supposed that a Saint upon whom lay " the 
solicitude of all the Churches " should neglect the tradition, 
which his predecessors of so many centuries had bequeathed 
to him, of zeal and hostility against the Turkish power. He was 
only six years on the Pontifical throne, and the achievement of 
which I am going to speak was among his last ; he died the fol- 
lowing year. At this time the Ottoman armies were continuing 
their course of victory ; they had just taken Cyprus, with the ac- 
tive co-operation of the Greek population of the island, and were 
massacring the Latin nobility and clergy, and mutilating and flay- 
ing alive the Venetian governor ; yet the Saint found it impossible 
to move Christendom to its own defence. How, indeed, was 
that to be done, when half Christendom had become Protestant, 
and secretly, perhaps, felt as the Greeks felt, that the Turk was its 
friend and ally? In such a quarrel, England, France, and Germany 
were out of the question. At length, however, with great effort, 
he succeeded in forming a holy league between himself, King 
Philip of Spain, and the Venetians ; Don John of Austria, King 
Philip's half brother, was appointed commander-in-chief of the 
forces ; and Colonna admiral. The treaty was signed on the 24th 
of May ; but such was the cowardice and jealousy of the parties 
concerned, that the autumn had arrived and nothing of importance 
was accomplished. With difficulty were the armies united ; with 
difficulty were the dissensions of the commanders brought to a 
settlement. Meanwhile the Ottomans were scouring the Gulf of 
Venice, blockading the ports, and terrifying the city itself. 

But the holy Pope was securing the success of his cause by 
arms of his own, which the Turks understood not. He had been 
appointing a Triduo of supplication at Rome, and had taken part 
in the procession himself. He had proclaimed a jubilee to the 
whole Christian world, for the happy issue of the war. He had 
been interesting the Holy Virgin in his cause. _He presented to 
his admiral, after High Mass in his chapel, a standard of led 
damask, embroidered with a crucifix, and with the figures of St 
Peter and St. Paul, and the legend, In hoc signo vinces. Next, 
sending to Messina, where the allied fleet lay, he assured the 
general-in-chief and the armament, that " if, relying on aivine, 
rathet than on human help, they attacked the enemy, God wduld 



TJie Battle of Lepanto. 



not be wanting to His own cause. He augured a prosperous and 
happy issue ; not on any light or random hope, but on a divine 
guidance, and by the anticipations of many holy men." More- 
over, he enjoined the officers to look to the good conduct of their 
troops ; to repress swearing, gaming, riot, and plunder, and 
thereby to render them more deserving of victory. Accordingly, 
a fast of three days was proclaimed for the fleet, beginning with 
the nativity of Our Lady ; all the men went to confession and 
communion, and appropriated to themselves the plentiful indul- 
gences which the Pope attached to the expedition. Then they 
moved across the foot of Italy to Corfu, with the intention of pre- 
senting themselves at once to the enemy; being disappointed in 
their expectations, they turned back to the Gulf of Corinth ; and 
there at length, on the 7th of October, they found the Turkish 
fleet, half-way between Lepanto and the Echiniades on the north, 
and Patras in the Morea on the south ; and, though it was to- 
wards evening, strong in faith and zeal, they at once commenced 
the engagement. 

The night before the battle, and the day itself, aged as he was, 
and broken with a cruel malady, the Saint had passed in the 
Vatican in fasting and prayer. All through the Holy City the 
Monasteries and the Colleges were in prayer too. As the evening 
advanced, the Pontifical Treasurer asked an audience of the 
Sovereign Pontiff on an important matter. Pius was in his bed- 
room and began to converse with him ; when suddenly he stop- 
ped the conversation, left him, threw up the window, and gazed 
up into heaven. Then closing it again, he looked gravely at his 
official, and said, "This is no time for business; go, return 
thanks to the Lord God. In this very hour our fleet has engaged 
the Turkish, and is victorious L" As the Treasurer went out, he 
saw him fall on his knees before the altar in thankfulness and 
joy. 

And a most memorable victory it was ; upwards of 30,000 Turks 
are said to have lost their lives in the engagement, and three 
thousand five hundred were made prisoners. Almost their whole 
fleet was taken. I quote from Protestant authorities when I say 
that the Sultan, on the news of the calamity, neither ate, nor 
drank, nor showed himself, nor saw any one for three days ; that 
it was the greatest blow which the Ottomans had had since 
Timour's victory over Bajazet, a century and a half before ; nay, 



Historical. 



that it was the turning-point in the Turkish history, and that 
though the Sultans have had isolated successes since, yet from 
that day they undeniably and constantly declined ; that they have 
lost their prestige and their self-confidence ; and that the 
victories gained over them since are but the complements and 
the reverberations of the overthrow at Lepanto. (" Hist. 
Sketches," vol. I. p. 155.) 



THE RELIGIOUS HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 

Time was when the forefathers of our race were a savage tribe, 
inhabiting a wild district beyond the limits of this quarter of the 
earth. Whatever brought them thither, they had no local attach- 
ments there or political settlement ; they were a restless people, 
and whether urged forward by enemies or by desire of plunder, 
they left their place, and passing through the defiles of the moun- 
tains on the frontiers of Asia, they invaded Europe, setting out on 
a journey towards the farther West. Generation after generation 
passed away, and still this fierce and haughty race moved forward. 
On, on they went ; but travel availed them not ; the change of 
place could bring them no truth, or peace, or hope, or stability of 
heart ; they could not flee from themselves. They carried with 
them their superstitions and their sins, their gods of iron and of 
clay, their savage sacrifices, their lawless witchcrafts, their hatred 
of their kind, and their ignorance of their destiny. At length 
they buried themselves in the deep forests of Germany, and gave 
themselves up to indolent repose ; but they had not found their 
rest ; they were still heathens, making the fair trees, the primeval 
work of God, and the innocent beasts of the chase, the objects 
and the instruments of their idolatrous worship. And, last of all, 
they crossed over the strait and made themselves masters of this 
island, and gave their very name to it ; so that, whereas it had 
hitherto been called Britain, the southern part, which was their 
main seat, obtained the name of England. And now they had 
proceeded forward nearly as far as they could go, unless they 
were prepared to look across the great ocean, and anticipate the 
discovery of the world which lies beyond it. 



The Religious History of England. 167 



What, then, was to happen to this restless race, which had 
sought for happiness and peace across the glebe, and had not 
found it? Was it to grow old in its place, and dwindle away 
and consume in the fever of its own heart, which admitted no 
remedy? Or was it to become great by being overcome, and to 
enjoy the only real life of man, and rise to his only true dignity, 
by being subjected to a Master's yoke? Did its Maker and Lord 
see any good thing in it, of which, under His divine nurture, pro- 
fit might come to His elect and glory to His name? He looked 
upon it, and He saw nothing there to claim any visitation of His 
grace, or to merit any relaxation of the awful penalty which its 
lawlessness and impiety had incurred. It was a proud race, 
which feared neither God nor man — a race ambitious, self-willed, 
obstinate, and hard of belief, which would dare everything, even 
the eternal pit, if it was challenged to do so. I say, there was 
aothing there of a nature to reverse the destiny which His 
righteous decrees have assigned to those who sin wilfully and 
despise Him. But the Almighty Lover of souls looked once 
again ; and He saw in that poor, forlorn, and ruined nature, 
which He had in the beginning filled with grace and light, He 
saw in it, not what merited His favor, not what would adequately 
respond to His influences, not what was a necessary instrument of 
His purposes, but what would illustrate and preach abroad His 
grace, if He took pity on it. He saw in it a natural nobleness, 
a simplicity, a frankness of character, a love of truth, a zeal for 
justice, an indignation at wrong, an admiration of purity, a 
reverence for law, a keen appreciation of the beautifulness and 
majesty of order, nay, further, a tenderness and an affectionate- 
ness of heart, which He knew would become the glorious instru- 
ments of His high will, when illuminated and vivified by His 
supernatural gifts. And so He who, did it so please Him, 
could raise up children to Abraham out of the very stones of the 
earth, nevertheless determined in this instance in His free merer 
to unite what was beautiful in nature with what was radiant in 
grace ; and, as if those poor Anglo-Saxons had been too fair to be 
heathen, therefore did He rescue them from the devil's service 
and the devil's doom, and bring them into the house of His holi- 
ness and the mountain of His rest. 

It is an old story and a familiar, and I need not go through it 
I need not tell you, how suddenly the word of tiuth came to oui 



r68 



Historical. 



ancestors in this island and subdued them to its gentle rule ; how 
the grace of God fell on them, and, without compulsion, as the 
historian tells us, the multitude became Christian ; how, when 
all was tempestuous, and hopeless, and dark, Christ like a vision 
of glory came walking to them on the waves of the sea. Then 
suddenl}- there was a great calm ; a change came over the pagan 
people in that quarter of the country where the gospel was first 
preached to them ; and from thende the blessed influence went 
forth ; it was poured out over the whole land, till, one and all, the 
Anglo-Saxon people were converted by it. In a hundred years 
the work was done ; the idols, the sacrifices, the mummeries of 
paganism flitted away and were not, and the pure doctrine and 
heavenly worship of the Cross were found in their stead. The 
fair form of Christianity rose up and grew and expanded like a 
beautiful pageant from north to south ; it was majestic, it was 
solemn, it was bright, it was beautiful and pleasant, it was sooth- 
ing to the griefs, it was indulgent to the hopes of man ; it was at 
once a teaching and a worship ; it had a dogma, a mystery, a 
ritual of its own ; it had an hierarchical form. A brotherhood of 
holy pastors, with mitre and crosier and uplifted hand, walked 
forth and blessed and ruled a joyful people. The crucifix 
headed the procession, and simple monks were there with hearts 
in prayer, and sweet chants resounded, and the holy Latin tongue 
was heard, and boys came forth in white, swinging censers, and 
the fragrant cloud arose, and Mass was sung, and the saints 
were invoked ; and day after day, and in the still night, and over 
the woody hills and in the quiet plains, as constantly as sun and 
moon and stars go forth in heaven, so regular and solemn was 
the stately march or blessed services on earth, high festival, and 
gorgeous procession, and soothing dirge, and passing bell, and 
the familiar evening call to prayer ; till he who recollected the 
old pagan time, would think it all unreal that he beheld and 
heard, and would conclude he did but see a vision, so marvel- 
! ously was heaven let down upon earth, so triumphantly were 
chased away the fiends of darkness to their prison below. 

Such was the change which came over our forefathers ; such 
was the Religion bestowed upon them, bestowed on them, as a 
second grant, afrer the grant of the territon* itself; nay, it might 
almost have seemed as the divine guarantee or pledge of its oc- 
cupation. And you know its name ; there can be no rrr stake ; 



- 



The Religious History af England. 169 



fou know what that Religion was called. It was called by no mo 
dern name — for modern religions then were not. You know who* 
religion has priests and sacrifices, and mystical rites, and the 
monastic rule, and care for the souls of the dead, and the profes- 
sion of an ancient faith, coming, through all ages, from the Apos- 
tles. There is one, and only one religion such : it is known 
every where ; every poor boy in the street knows the name of it ; 
there never was a time, since it first was, that its name was not 
known, and known to the multitude. It is called Catholicism— 
a world-wide name, and incommunicable ; attached to us from the 
first ; accorded to us by our enemies ; in vain attempted, never stolen 
from us, by our rivals. Such was the worship which the English 
people gained when they emerged out of paganism into gospel 
light. In the history of their conversion, Christianity and 
Catholicism are one ; they are in that history, as they are in their 
own nature, convertible terms. It was the Catholic faith which 
that rigorous young race heard and embraced — that faith which is 
still found, the further you trace back towards the age of the 
Apostles, which is still visible in the dim distance of the earliest 
antiquity, and to which the witness of the Church, when investigat- 
ed even in her first startings and simplest rudiments, (i sayeth 
not to the contrary." Such was the religion of the noble English ; 
they knew not heresy ; and, as time went on, the work did but 
sink deeper and deeper into their nature, into their social 
structure and their political institutions ; it grew with their 
growth, and strengthened with their strength, till a sight 
was seen — one of the most beautiful which ever has been 
given to man to see — what was great in the natural order 
made greater by its elevation into the supernatural. The 
two seemed as if made for each other ; that natural temperament 
and that gift of grace ; what was heroic, or generous, or magnani- 
mous in nature, found its corresponding place or office in the 
divine kingdom. Angels in heaven rejoiced to see the divinely 
wrought piety and sanctity of penitent sinners : Apostles, Popes, 
and Bishops, long since taken to glory, threw their crowns in 
transport at the foot of the throne, as saints, and confessors, and 
martyrs, came forth before their wondering eyes out of a horde ot 
heathen robbers ; guardian spirits no longer sighed over the dis- 
parity and contrast which had so fearfully intervened between 
themselves and the souls given to them in charge. It did indeed 



Historical. 



become a peculiar, special people, with a character and genius ol 
its own ; I will say a bold thing — in its staidness, sagacity, and sim- 
plicity, more like the mind that rules, through all time, the princely 
line of Roman Pontiffs, than perhaps any other Christian people 
whom the world has seen. And so things went on for many 
centuries. Generation followed generation ; revolution came 
after revolution ; great men rose and fell : there were bloody 
wars, and invasions, conquests, changes of dynasty, slavery, re- 
coveries, civil dissensions, settlements ; Dane and Norman over- 
ran the land ; and yet all along Christ was upon the waters ; and 
if they rose in fury, yet at His word they fell again and were in 
calm. The bark of Peter was still the refuge of the tempest-tost, 
and ever solaced and recruited those whom it rescued from the 
deep. 

But at length a change came over the land : a thousand years 
had well-nigh rolled, and this great people grew tired of the 
heavenly stranger who sojourned among them. They had had 
enough of blessings and absolutions, enough of the inter- 
cession of saints, enough of the grace of the sacraments, 
enough of the prospect of the next life. They thought it 
best to secure this life in the first place, because they were in 
possession of it, and then to go on to the next, if time and means 
allowed. And they saw that to labor for the next world was pos- 
sibly to lose this ; whereas, to labor for this world might be, for 
what they knew, the way to labor for the next also. Any how, 
they would pursue a temporal end, and they would account any 
one their enemy who stood in the way of their pursuing it. It 
was a madness ; but madmen are strong and madmen are clever ; 
so with the sword and the halter, and by mutilation and fine and 
imprisonment, they cut off, or frightened away from the land, as 
Israel did in the time of old, the ministers of the Most High, and 
their ministrations : they " altogether broke the yoke, and burst 
the bonds." " They beat one, and killed another, and another 
they stoned/' and at length they altogether cast out the Heir from 
His vineyard, and killed Him, "that the inheritance might be 
theirs." And as for the remnant of His servants whom they left 
they drove them into corners and holes of the earth, and there 
they bade them die out ; and then they rejoiced and sent gifts 
either to other, and made merry, because they had rid themselves 
of those " who had tormented them that dwelt upon the earth." 



The Religious History of England, 1 7 1 



And so they turned to enjoy this world, and to gain for themselves 
a name among men, and it was given unto them according to their 
wish. They preferred the heathen virtues of their original nature 
to the robe of grace which God had given them : they fell back 
with closed affections, and haughty reserve, and dreariness within, 
upon their worldly integrity, honor, energy, prudence, and per- 
severance ; they made the most of the natural man, and they " re- 
ceived their reward." Forthwith they began to rise to a station 
higher than the heathen Roman, and have, in three centuries, 
attained a wider range of sovereignty; and now they look down 
in contempt on what they were, and upon the Religion which re- 
claimed them from paganism. 

Yes, such was the temptation of the evil one, such the fall of his 
victim, such the disposition of the Most High. The tempter said : 
"All these will I give thee, if, falling down, thou wilt adore me 
and their rightful Lord and Sovereign permitted the boast to be 
fulfilled. He permitted it for His greater glory : He might have 
hindered it, as He might hinder all evil ; but He saw good, He 
saw it best, to let things take their course. He did not interfere, 
He kept silence, He retired from the land which would be rid of 
Him. And there were those at that crisis who understood not 
His providence, and would have interfered in His behalf with a 
high hand. Holy men and true they were, zealous for God, and 
tender towards His sheep ; but they divined not His will. It was 
His will to leave the issue to time, and to bring things round 
slowly and without violence, and to conquer by means of His ad 
versaries. He willed it that their pride should be its own correc- 
tion ; that they should be broken without hands, and dissolve 
under their own insufficiency. He who might have brought 
myriads of Angels to the rescue, He who might have armed and 
blessed the forces of Christendom against His persecutors, 
wrought more wondrously. He deigned not to use the carnal 
weapon : He bade the drawn sword return to its sheath : He 
refused the combinations and the armaments of earthly kings. 
He who sees the end from the beginning, who is ''justified in His 
words, and overcomes when He is judged," did but wait. He 
waited patiently; He left the world to itself, nor avenged His 
Church, but stayed till the fourth watch of the night, when His 
faithful sons had given up hope, and thought His mercy towards 
them at an end. He let the winds and the waves insult Him and 



172 



Historical. 



His own; He suffered meekly the jeers and blasphemies which 
rose on every side, and pronounced the downfall of His work. 
"All things have an end," men said; "there is a time for all 
things; a time to be born, and a time to die. All things have 
their course and their term ; they may last a long time, but after 
all, a period they have, and not an immortality. So it is with 
man himself; even Mathusala and Noe exhausted the full foun- 
tain of their being, and the pitcher was at length crushed, and the 
wheel broken. So is it with nations ; they rise, and they flourish, 
and they fall ; there is an element in them, as in individuals, 
which wears out and perishes. However great they may be in 
their day, at length the moment comes, when they have attained 
their greatest elevation, and accomplished their full range, and 
fulfilled their scope. So it is with great ideas and their manifes- 
tations ; they are realized, they prevail, and they perish. As the 
constituents of the animal frame at length refuse to hold together, 
so nations, philosophies, and religions one day lose their unity 
and undergo the common law of decomposition. Our nation, 
doubtless, will find its term at length, as well as others, though 
not yet ; but that ancient faith of ours is come to naught already. 
We have nothing, then, to fear from the past; the past is not, the 
past cannot revive ; the dead tell no tales ; the grave cannot open. 
New adversaries we may have, but with the Old Religion we have 
parted once for all." 

Thus speaks the world, deeming Christ's patience to be feeble- 
ness, and His loving affection to be enmity. And the faithful, on 
the other hand, have had their own misgivings too, whether 
Catholicism could ever flourish in this country again. Has it yet 
happened anywhere in the history of the Church, that a people 
which once lost its faith ever regained it? It is a gift of grace, a 
special mercy to receive it once, and not to be expected a second 
time. Many nations have never had it at all ; from some it has 
been taken away, apparently without their fault, nay, in spite of 
their meritorious use of it. So was it with the old Persian Church 
which, after enduring two frightful persecutions, had scarcely 
emerged from the second when it was irretrievably corrupted by 
heresy. So was it with the famous Church of Africa, whose great 
saint and doctor's dying moments were embittered by the ravages 
around him of those fierce barbarians who were destined to be its 
ruin. What are we better than they? It is then surely against 



The Religious History of Engia?id. 



173 



the order of Providence hitherto, that the gift once given should 
be given again : the world and the Church bear a concordant tes- 
timony here. 

And the just Judge of man made as though He would do what 
man anticipated. He retired, as I have said, from the field ; He 
yielded the battle to the enemy ; — but He did so that He might in 
the event more signally triumph. He interfered not for near 
three hundred years, that His enemies might try their poweis of 
mind in forming a religion instead of His own. He gave the-m 
thiee hundred years' start, bidding them to do something better 
than He, or something at all, if so be they were able, and He put 
Himself to every disadvantage. He suffered the daily sacrifice to 
be suspended, the hierarchy to be driven out, education to be pro- 
hibited, religious houses to be plundered and suppressed, cathe- 
drals to be desecrated, shrines to be rifled, religious rites and 
duties to be interdicted by the law of the land. He would owe 
the world nothing in that revival of the Church which was to fol- 
low. He wrought, as in the old time by His prophet Elias, who, 
when he was to light the sacrifice with fire from heaven, drenched 
the burnt-offering with water the first time, the second time, and 
the third time ; "and the water ran round about the altar, and the 
trench was filled up with water." He wrought as He himself had 
done in the raising of Lazarus ; for when He heard that His friend 
was sick, " He remained in the same place two days": on the 
third day He "said plainly, Lazarus is dead, and I am glad, for 
your sake, that I was not there, that you may believe and then, 
at length, He went and raised him from the grave. So too was it 
in His own resurrection ; He did not rise from the cross ; He did 
not rise from His mother's arms ; He rose from the grave, and on 
the third day. 

So is it now ; 14 He hath taken us, and He will heal us ; He will 
strike, and He will cure us. He will revive us after two days ; on 
the third day He will raise us up, and we shall live in His sight." 
Three ages have passed away ; the bell has tolled once, and twice, 
and thrice; the intercession of the saints has had effect; the mys- 
tery of Providence is unravelled ; the destined hour is come. 
And, as when Christ arose, men knew not of His rising, for He 
rose at midnight and in silence, so when His mercy would do His 
new work among us, He wrought secretly, and was risen ere men 
dreamed of it. He sent not His Apostles and preachers, as at the 



174 



Historical. 



first, from the cjty where He has fixed His throne. His few and 
scattered priests were about their own work, watching their flocks 
by night, with little time to attend to the souls of the wandering 
multitudes around them, and with no thoughts of the conversion 
of the country. But He came as a spirit upon the waters ; He 
walked to and fro Himself over that dark and troubled deep , 
and, wonderful to behold, and inexplicable to man, hearts were 
stirred, and eyes were raised in hope, and feet began to move 
towards the Great Mother, who had almost given up the thought 
and the. seeking of them. First one, and then another, sought the 
rest which she alone could give. A first, and a second, and a 
third, and a fourth, each in his turn, as grace inspired him, — riot 
altogether, as by some party understanding or political call, — 
but drawn by divine power, and against his will, for he was happy 
where he was, yet with his will, for he was lovingly subdued by 
the sweet mysterious influence which called him on. One by one, 
little noticed at the moment, silently, swiftly, and abundantly, they 
drifted in, till all could see at length that surely the stone was 
rolled away, and that Christ was risen and abroad. And as He 
rose from the grave, strong and glorious, as if refreshed with His 
sleep, so, when the prison doors were opened, the Church came 
forth, not changed in aspect or in voice, as calm and keen, as 
vigorous and as well furnished, as when they closed on her. It 
is told in legends of that great saint and instrument of God, St. 
Athanasius, how that when the apostate Julian had come to his 
end, and persecution with him, the saintly confessor, who had 
been a wanderer over the earth, was found, to the surprise of his 
people, in his cathedral at Alexandria, seated on his episcopal 
throne, and clad in the vestments of religion. So is it now ; the 
Church is coming out of prison, as collected in her teaching, as 
precise in her action, as when she went into it. She comes out 
with pallium, and cope, and chasuble, and stole, and wonder- 
working relics, and holy images. Her bishops are again in their 
chairs, and her priests sit round, and the perfect vision of a 
majestic hierarchy rises before our eyes. 

What an awful vitality is here ! What a heavenly-sustained 
sovereignty! What a self-evident divinity! She claims, she 
seeks, she desires no temporal power, no secular station ; she 
meddles not with Caesar or the things of Csesar ; she obeys him in 
his place, but she is independent of him. Her strength is in he* 



Catholicism from the 16th to the igth Century. 175 



God ; her rule is over the souls of men ; her glory is in their will- 
ing subjection and loving loyalty. She hopes and fears nothing 
from the world ; it made her not, nor can it destroy her. She can 
benefit it largely, but she does not force herself upon it. She may 
be persecuted by it, but she thrives under the persecution. She 
may be ignored, she may be silenced and thrown into a corner, 
but she is thought of the more. Calumniate her, and her influ- 
ence grows ; ridicule her — she does but smile upon you more 
awfully and persuasively. What will you do with her, ye sons of 
men, if you will not love her, if at least you will not suffer her ? 
Let the last three hundred years reply. Let her alone, refrain 
from her; for if her counsel or her work be of men, it will come 
to naught ; but if it be of God, you cannot overthrow it, lest per- 
haps you be found even to fight against God. (" Occasional 
Sermons," p. 124.) 



CATHOLICISM IN ENGLAND FROM THE SIXTEENTH 
TO THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

Three centuries ago, and the Catholic Church, that great 
creation of God's power, stood in this land in pride of place. It 
had the honors of near a thousand years upon it ; it was enthroned 
in some twenty sees up and down the broad country ; it was based 
in the will of a faithful people ; it energized through ten thousand 
instruments of power and influence, and it was ennobled by a host 
of saints and martyrs. The churches, one by one, recounted and 
rejoiced in the line of glorified intercessors who were the re- 
spective objects of their grateful homage. Canterbury alone 
numbered perhaps some sixteen, from St. Augustine to St. 
Dunstan and St. Elphege, from St. Anselm and St. Thomas down 
to St. Edmund. York had its St. Paulinus, St. John, St. Wilfrid, 
and St. William ; London, its St. Erconwald ; Durham, its St, 
Cuthbert : Winton, its St. Swithun. Then there were St. Aidan 
of Lindisfarne, and St. Hugh of Lincoln, and St. Chad of Lichfield, 
and St. Thomas of Hereford, and St. Oswald and St. Wulstan oi 
Worcester, and St. Osmund of Salisbury, and St. Birinus of Dor- 
cester, and St. Richard of Chichester. And then, too, its re- 



176 



Historical. 



ligious orders, its monastic establishments, its universities, it? 
wide relations all over Europe, its high prerogatives in the tem- 
poral state, its wealth, its dependencies, its popular honors — - 
where was there in the whole of Christendom a more glorious 
hierarchy? Mixed up with the civil institutions, with king and 
nobles, with the people, found in every village and in every town — 
it seemed destined to stand so long as England stood, and to out- 
last, it might be, England's greatness. 

But it was the high decree of Heaven that the majesty of that 
presence should be blotted out. It is a long story, my Fathers 
and Brothers ; you know it well. I need not go through it. The 
vivifying principle of truth, the shadow of St. Peter, the grace of 
the Redeemer, left it. That old Church in its day became a corpse 
(a marvellous, an awful change !), and then it did but corrupt the 
air which once it refreshed, and cumber the ground which once it 
beautified. So all seemed to be lost, and there was a struggle for 
a time, and then its priests were cast out or martyred. There 
were sacrileges innumerable. Its temples were profaned or de- 
stroyed ; its revenues seized by covetous nobles, or squandered 
upon the ministers of a new faith. The presence of Catholicism 
was at length simply removed — its grace disowned, its power 
despised — its name, except as a matter of history, at length almost 
unknown. It took a long time to do this thoroughly ; much time, 
much thought, much labor, much expense ; but at last it was 
done. Oh, that miserable day, centuries before we were born ! 
What a martyrdom to live in it, and see the fair form of Truth, 
moral and material, hacked piecemeal, and every limb and organ 
carried off, and burned in the fire, or cast into the deep ! But at 
last the work was done. Truth was disposed of, and shovelled 
away, and there was a calm, a silence, a sort of peace — and such 
was about the state of things when we were born into this weary 
world. 

My Fathers and Brothers, you have seen it on one side, and 
some of us on another ; but one and all of us can bear witness to 
the fact of the utter contempt into which Catholicism had fallen 
by the time that we were born. You, alas, know it far better than 
I can know it ; but it may not be out of place, if by one or two 
tokens, as by the strokes of a pencil, I bear witness to you from 
without, of what you can witness so much more truly from within. 
No longer the Catholic Church in the country — nay, no longer, I 



Catholicism from the i6t/i to the igth Century. 177 



/nay say, a Catholic community; but a few adherents of the old 
religion, moving silently and sorrowfully about, as memorials of 
<vhat had been. "The Roman Catholics," — not a sect, not even 
in interest, as men conceived of it ; not a body, however small, 
representative of the great communion abroad — but a mere hand- 
ai\ of individuals, who might be counted like the pebbles and 
detritus of the great deluge, and who, forsooth, merely happened 
to retain a creed which, in its day indeed, was the profession of a 
Church. Here, a set of poor Irishmen, coming and going at har- 
vest time, or a colony of them lodged in a miserable quarter of 
the vast metropolis. There, perhaps, an elderly person seen 
walking in the streets, grave and solitary, and strange, though 
noble in bearing, and said to be of good family, and a " Roman 
Catholic." An old-fashioned house of gloomy appearance, closed 
in with high walls, with an iron gate and yews 3 and the report 
attaching to it that " Roman Catholics 5 ' lived there ; but who they 
were, or what they did, or what was meant by calling them Roman 
Catholics, no one could tell — though it had an unpleasant sound, 
and told of form and superstition. And then, perhaps, as we 
went to and fro, looking with a boy's curious eyes through the 
great city, we might come to-day upon some Moravian chapel, or 
Quakers' meeting-house, and to-morrow on a chapel of the 
" Roman Catholics ;" but nothing was to be gathered from it, ex- 
cept that there were lights burning there, and some boys in white, 
swinging censers; and what it all meant could only be learned 
from books, from Protestant histories and sermons, and they did 
not report well of "the Roman Catholics," but, on the contrary, 
deposed that they once had power and had abused it. And then 
again we might, on one occasion, hear it pointedly put out by 
some literary man, as the result of his careful investigation, and 
as a recondite point of information, which few knew, that there 
was this difference between the Roman Catholics of England and 
the Roman Catholics of Ireland, that the latter had bishops, and 
the former were governed by four officials, called Vicars-Apos- 
tolic. 

Such was about the sort of knowledge possessed of Christianity 
by the heathen of old time, who persecuted its adherents from the 
face of the earth, and then called them a. gens lutifuga, a people 
who shunned the light of day. Such were Catholics in England, 
found in corners, and alleys, and cellars, and the housetops, or in 



i 7 8 



Historical 



the recesses of the country; cut off from the populous world 
around them, and dimly seen, as if through a mist, or in twilight, as 
ghosts flitting to and fro, by the high Protestants, the lords of the 
earth. At length so feeble did they become, so utterly contempt- 
ible, that contempt gave birth to pit} 7 , and the more generous of their 
tyrants actually began to wish to bestow on them some favor, un- 
der the notion that their opinions were simply too absurd ever to 
spread again, and that they themselves, were they but raised in 
civil importance, would soon unlearn and be ashamed of them. 
And thus, out of mere kindness to us, they began to vilify our 
doctrines to the Protestant world, that so our very idiotcy. or cur 
secret unbelief, might be our plea for mercy. (" Occasional Ser- 
mons," p. 169.) 



THE RE-ESTABLISHMENT OF THE HIERARCHY. 

A great change, an awful contrast, between the time-honored 
Church of St. Augustine and St. Thomas, and the poor remnant 
of their children in the beginning of the nineteenth century ! It 
was a miracle, I might say, to have pulled down that lordly 
power ; but there was a greater and a truer one in store. No one 
could have prophesied its fall, but still less would any one have 
ventured to prophesy its rise again. The fail was wonderful ; 
still, after all, it was in the order of nature ; all things come to 
nought : its rise again would be a different sort of wonder, for it 
is in the order of grace, — and who can hope for miracles, and such 
a miracle as this? Has the whole course of history a like to 
show? I must speak cautiously and according to my knowledge, 
but I recollect no parallel to it. Augustine, indeed, came to the 
same island to which the early missionaries had come already^ 
but they came to Britons, and he to Saxons. T:;e Arian Goths 
and Lombards, too, cast off their heresy in St. Augustine's age, 
and joined the Church ; but they had never fallen away from her. 
The inspired word seems to imply the almost impossibility of 
such a grace as the renovation of those who have crucified to 
themselves again, and trodden underfoot, the Son of God. Who 
then could have dared to hope that, out of so sacrilegious a nation 



The lte-establishme?it of the Hierarchy. 179 



as this is, a people would have been formed again unto their Sav- 
iour? What signs did it show that it was to be singled out from 
among the nations ? Had it been prophesied some fifty years 
ago, would not the very notion have seemed preposterous and 
wild? 

My Fathers, there was one of your own order* then in the ma- 
turity of his powers and his reputation. His name is the pro- 
perty of this diocese ; yet is too great, too venerable, too dear to 
all Catholics, to be confined to any part of England, when it is 
rather a household word in the mouths of all of us. What would 
have been the feelings of that venerable man, the champion of 
God's ark in an evil time, could he have lived to see this day? It 
is almost presumptuous for one who knew him not, to draw pic- 
tures about him, and his thoughts, and his friends, some of whom 
are even here present ; yet am I wrong in fancying that a day such 
as this in which we stand would have seemed to him a dream, or, 
if he prophesied of it, to his hearers nothing but a mockery ? Say 
that one time, rapt in spirit, he had reached forward to the future, 
and that his mortal eye had wandered from the lowly chapel in 
the valley,! which had been for centuries in the possession of 
Catholics, to the neighboring height, then waste and solitary. 
And let him say to those about him : " I see a bleak mount, look- 
ing upon an open country, over against that huge town, to whose 
inhabitants Catholicism is of so little account. I see the ground 
marked out, and an ample enclosure made; and plantations are 
rising there, clothing and circling in the space. And there on 
that high spot far from the haunts of men, yet in the very centre of 
the island, a large edifice,:): or rather a pile of edifices, appears, 
with many fronts and courts, and long cloisters and corridors, and 
story upon story. And there it rises, under the invocation of the 
same sweet and powerful name which has been our strength and 
consolation in the Valley. I look more attentively at that build- 
ing, and I see it is fashioned upon that ancient style of art which 
brings back the past, which had seemed to be perishing from off 
the face of the earth, or to be preserved only as a curiosity, or to 
be imitated only as a fancy. I listen, and I hear the sound of 
voices, grave and musical, renewing the old chant, with which 
Augustine greeted Ethelbert in the free air upon the Kentish 



• Bp. Milner. 



t Maryvale. 



% St. Mary's College, Oscott. 



iSo 



Historical 



strand. It comes from a long procession, and it winds along tna 
cloisters. Priests and religious, theologians from the schools, 
and canons from the Cathedral, walk in due precedence. And 
then there comes a vision of well-nigh twelve mitred heads ; and 
last I see a Prince of the Church, in the royal dye of empire and 
of martyrdom — a pledge to us from Rome of Rome's unwearied 
love, a token that that goodly company is firm in Apostolic faith 
and hope. And the shadow of the Saints is there ; — St. Benedict 
is there, speaking to us by the voice of bishop and of priest, and 
counting over the long ages through which he has prayed, and 
studied, and labored ; there, too, is St. Dominic's white wool, 
which no blemish can impair, no stain can dim ; — and if St. Ber- 
nard be not there, it is only that his absence may make him be re. 
membered more. And the princely patriarch, St. Ignatius, too, 
the St. George of the modern world, with his chivalrous lance run 
through his writhing foe, he, too, sheds his blessing upon that 
train. And others, also, his equals or his juniors in history 
whose pictures are above our altars, or soon shall be, the surest 
proof that the Lord's arm has not waxen short, nor his mercy 
failed, — they, too, are looking down from their thrones on high 
upon the throng. And so that high company moves on into the 
holy place ; and there, with august rite, and awful sacrifice, in. 
augu rates the great act which brings it thither." What is that act? 
it is the first Synod* of a new Hierarchy ; it is the resurrection of 
u:e Church. 

O my Fathers, my Brothers, had that revered Bishop spoken 
then, who that had heard him but would have said that he spoke 
what could not be? What ! those few scattered worshippers, the 
Roman Catholics, to form a Church! Shall the past be rolled 
back? Shall the grave open? Shall the Saxons live again to 
God? Shall the shepherds, watching their poor flocks by night, 
be visited by a multitude of the heavenly army, and hear how 
their Lord has been new-born in their own city? Yes ; for grace 
can, where nature cannot. The world grows old, but the Church 
is ever voung. She can. in any time, at her Lord's will, u inherit 
[he Gentiles, and inhabit the desolate cities/' " Arise, Jerusalem, 
for thv light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee. 
Behold, darkness shall cover the earth, and a mist the people; 



* The Synod of Oscott. 



The Re-establishment of the Hierarchy. 1S1 



but the Lord shall arise upon thee, and His glory shall be seen 
upon thee. Lift up thine eyes around about, and see ; all these 
are gathered together, they come to thee ; thy sons shall come 
from afar, and thy daughters shall rise up at thy side." " Arise, 
make haste, my love, my dove, my beautiful one, and come. For 
the winter Is now pastj and the rain is over and gone. The flow- 
ers have appeared in our land . . the fig-tree hath put forth her 
green figs ; the vines in flower yield their sweet smell. Arise, my 
love, my beautiful one, and come." It is the time for thy Visita- 
tion. Arise, Mary, and go forth in thy strength into that north 
country, which once was thine own, and take possession of a land 
which knows thee not! Arise, Mother of God, and with thy 
thrilling voice speak to those who labor with child, and are in 
pain, till the babe of grace leaps within them ! Shine on us, dear 
Lady, with thy bright countenance, like the sun in his strength, 
O stella matutina, O harbinger of peace, till our year is one per- 
petual May ! From thy sweet eyes, from thy pure smile, from 
thy majestic brow, let ten thousand influences rain down, not to 
confound or overwhelm, but to persuade, to win over thine ene- 
mies. O Mary, my hope, O Mother undefiled, fulfil to us the 
promise of this spring ! A second temple rises on the ruins of 
the old. Canterbury has gone its way, and York is gone, and 
Durham is gone, and Winchester is gone. It was sore to part 
with them. We clung to the vision of past greatness, and would 
not believe it could come to nought ; but the Church in England 
has died, and the Church lives again. Westminster and Notting- 
ham, Beverley and Hexham, Northampton and Shrewsbury, if the 
world lasts, shall be names as musical to the ear, as stirring to 
the heart, as the glories we have lost ; and saints shall rise out of 
them, if God so will, and doctors once again shall give the law to 
Israel, and preachers call to penance and to justice, as at the be- 
ginning. 

Yes, my Fathers and Brothers, and if it be God's blessed will, 
not saints alone, not doctors only, not preachers only, shall be 
ours — but martyrs, too, shall re-consecrate the soil to God. We 
know not what is before us, ere we win our own ; we are engaged 
in a great, a joyful work, but in proportion to God's grace is the 
fury of His enemies. They have welcomed us as the lion greets 
his prey. Perhaps they may be familiarized in time with our ap- 
pearance, but perhaps they may be irritated the more. To set up 



I&2 



Historical. 



the Church again in England is too great an act to be done in a 
corner. We have had reason to expect that such a boon would 
not be given to us without a cross. It is not God's way that great 
blessings should descend without the sacrifice first of great suffer- 
ings. If the truth is to be spread to any wide extent among this 
people, how can we dream, how can we hope, that trial and 
trouble shall not accompany its going forth? And we have 
already, if it may be said without presumption, to commence our 
work withal, a large store of merits. We have no slight outfit for 
our opening warfare. Can we religiously suppose that the blood 
of our martyrs three centuries ago and since, shall never receive 
its recompense ? Those priests, secular and regular, did they 
suffer for no end ? or rather, for a end which is not yet accom- 
plished? The long imprisonment, the fetid dungeon, the weary 
suspense, the tyrannous trial, the barbarous sentence, the savage 
execution, the rack, the gibbet, the knife, the cauldron, the num- 
berless tortures of these holy victims, O nry God, are they to have 
no reward ? Are Thy martyrs to cry from under thine altar for 
their loving vengeance on this guilty people, and to cry in vain? 
Shall they lose life, and not gain a better life for the children of 
those who persecuted them? Is this thy way, O my God, right- 
eous and true? Is it according to Thy promise, O King of Saints, 
if I may dare to talk to Thee of justice? Did not Thou Thyself 
pray for Thine enemies upon the cross, and convert them? Did 
not Thy first martyr win Thy great Apostle, then a persecutor, by 
his loving prayer? And in that day of trial and desolation for 
England, when hearts were pierced through and through with 
Mary's woe, at the crucifixion of Thy body mystical, was not every 
tear that flowed, and every drop of blood that was shed, the seeds 
of a future harvest, when they who sowed in sorrow were to reap 
in joy? 

And as that suffering of the martyrs is not yet recompensed, so 
perchance, it is not yet exhausted. Something, for what we 
know, remains to be undergone, to complete the necessar)' sacri- 
fice. May God forbid it, for this poor nation's sake. But still, 
could we be surprised, my Fathers and my Brothers, if the winter 
even now should not yet be quite over? Have we any right to 
take it strange, if, in this English land, the spring-time of the 
Church should turn out to be an English spring — an uncertain, 
anxious time of hope and fear, of joy and suffering — of bright 



The Re-establishment of the Hierarchy. 183 



promise and budding hopes, yet withal, of keen blasts, and cold 
showers, and sudden storms? 

One thing alone I know, that according to our need, so will be 
our strength. One thing I am sure of, that the more the enemy 
rages against us, so much the more will the saints in heaven plead 
for us ; the more fearful are our trials from the world, the more 
present to us will be our Mother Mary and our good Patrons and 
Angel Guardians; the more malicious are the devices of men 
against us, the louder cry of supplication will ascend from the bo- 
som of the whole Church to God for us. We shall not be left or- 
phans; we shall have within us the strength of the Paraclete, 
promised to the Church and to every member of it. My Fathers, 
my Brothers in the priesthood, I speak from my heart when I de- 
clare my conviction, that there is no one among you here present 
but, if God so willed, would readily become a martyr for His sake. 
I do not say you would wish it ; I do not say that the natural will 
would net pray that that chalice might pass away ; I do not speak 
of what you can do by any strength of yours ; but in the strength 
of God, in the grace of the Spirit, in the armor of justice, by the 
consolations and peace of the Church, by the blessing of the 
Apostles Peter and Paul, and in the name of Christ, you would 
do what nature cannot do. By the intercession of the Saints on 
high, by the penances and good works and the prayers of the people 
of God on earth, you would be forcibly borne up as upon the 
waves of the mighty deep, and carried on out of yourselves by the 
fulness of grace, whether nature wished it or no. I do not mean 
violently, or with unseemly struggle, but calmly, gracefully, sweet- 
ly, joyously, you would mount up and ride forth to the battle, as 
on the rush of Angels' wings, as your fathers did before you, and 
gained the prize. You, who day by day offer up the Immaculate 
Lamb of God, you who hold in your hands the Incarnate Word 
under the visible tokens which He has ordained, you who again 
and again drain the chalice of the Great Victim ; who is to make 
you fear? What is to startle you? what to seduce you? Who is 
to stop you, whether you are to suffer or to do, whether to lay the 
foundations of the Church in tears, or to put the crown upon the 
work in jubilation? ("Occasional Sermons, " p. 173.) 



PART IV. 




Section I.— PROTESTANTISM. 



PROTESTANTISM AND HISTORICAL CHRISTIANITY. 

Whatever be historical Christianity, it is not Protestantism. 
If ever there were a safe truth, it is this. And Protestantism has 
ever felt it. I do not mean that every Protestant writer has felt 
it; for it was the fashion at first, at least as a rhetorical argument 
against Rome, to appeal to past ages, or to some of them ; but 
Protestantism, as a whole, feels it, and has felt it. This is shown 
in the determination of dispensing with historical Christianity al- 
together, and of forming a Christianity from the Bible alone ; men 
never would have put it aside, unless they had despaired of it. 
It is shown by the long neglect of ecclesiastical history in Eng- 
land, which prevails even in the English Church. Our popular 
religion scarcely recognizes the fact of the twelve long ages which 
lie between the Councils of Nicaea and Trent, except as affording 
one or two passages to illustrate its wild interpretations of certain 
prophecies of St. Paul and St. John. It is melancholy to say it, 
but the chief, perhaps the only English writer who has any claim 
to be considered an ecclesiastical historian, is the infidel Gibbon. 
German Protestantism, on the other hand, has been of a bolder 
character ; it has calmly faced and carefully surveyed the 
Christianity of eighteen hundred years, and it frankly avows 
that it is a mere religion of man, and the accident of a period. It 
considers it a syncretism of various opinions, springing up in 
time and place, and forming such combinations, one with another, 
as their respective characters admitted. It considers it as the re- 
ligion of the childhood of the human mind, and curious to the 

philosopher as a phenomenon. And the utter incongruity be- 

x8 7 P 



i88 



Religious. — Protestantism. 



tween Protestantism and historical Christianity is true, whether 
the latter be regarded in its earlier or in its later centuries. Pro- 
testants can as little bear its ante-Nicene, as its post-Tridentine 
period. I have elsewhere observed on this circumstance ; " So 
much must the Protestant grant, that if such a a system of doc- 
trine as he would now introduce ever existed in early times, it has 
been clean swept away as if by a deluge, suddenly, silently, and 
without memorial ; by a deluge coming in a night, and utterly 
soaking, rotting, heaving up, and hurrying off every vestige of 
what is found in the Church, before cock-crowing : so that 
'when they rose in the morning' her true seed 'were all dead 
corpses ' — nay, dead and buried — and without grave-stone. 4 The 
waters went over them ; there was not one of them left ; 
they sunk like lead in the mighty waters.' Strange antitype, 
indeed, to the early fortunes of Israel ! — then the enemy was 
drowned, and * Israel saw them dead upon the sea-shore.' But 
now, it would seem, water proceeded as a flood ' out of the ser- 
pent's mouth,' and covered all the witnesses, so that not even their 
dead bodies 4 lay in the streets of the great city.' Let him take 
which of his doctrines he will, his peculiar view of self-righteous- 
ness, of formality, of superstition ; his notion of faith, or of spiritu- 
ality in religious worship ; his denial of the virtues of the 
Sacraments, or of the ministerial commission, or of the visible 
Church ; or his doctrine of the divine efficacy of the Scriptures as 
the one appointed instrument of religious teaching ; and let him 
consider how far antiquity, as it has come down to us, will coun- 
tenance him in it. No ; he must allow that the allged deluge has 
done its work; yes, and has in turn disappeared itself; it has 
been swallowed in the earth mercilessly as itself was merciless."* 
That Protestantism, then, is not the Christianity of history, it is 
easy to determine (" Essay on Development," p. 5). 



BIBLE RELIGION. 

There is in the literary world just now an affectation of calling 
religion a <( sentiment " ; and it must be confessed that usually it 
is nothing more with our own people, educated or rude. Objects 

• [ u Hist. Sketches, 1 ' vol. i. p. 4x8.} 



Bible Religion. 



are barely necessary to it. I do not say so of old Calvinism, or 
Evangelical religion ; I do not call the religion of Leighton, 
Beveridge, Wesley, Thomas Scott, or Cecil, a mere sentiment, 
nor do I so term the high Anglicanism of the present generation. 
But these are only denominations, parties, schools, compared with 
the national religion of England in its length and breath. " Bible 
Religion n is both the recognized title and the best description of 
English religion. 

It consists, not in rites or creeds, but mainly in having the Bible 
read in church, in the family, and in private. Now I am far 
indeed from undervaluing that mere knowledge of Scripture which 
is imparted to the population thus promiscuously. At least in 
England, it has to a certain point made up for great and grievous 
losses in its Christianity. The reiteration again and again in fixed 
course in the public service of the words of inspired teachers undei 
both Covenants, and that in grave majestic English, has in matter 
of fact been to our people a vast benefit. It has attuned their 
minds to religious thoughts ; it has given them a high moral 
standard ; it has served them in associating religion with com- 
positions which, even humanly considered, are among the most 
sublime and beautiful ever written ; especially, it has impressed 
upon them the series of Divine Providences in behalf of man from 
his creation to his end, and, above all, the words, deeds, and 
sacred sufferings of Him in whom all the Providences of* God 
centre. 

So far the indiscriminate reading of Scripture has been of ser- 
vice ; still, much more is necessary than the benefits which I have 
enumerated to answer to the idea of a Religion ; whereas our 
national form professes to be little more than thus reading the 
Bible and living a correct life. It is not a religion of persons and 
things, of acts of faith and of direct devotion ; but of sacred scenes 
and pious sentiments. It has been comparatively careless of creed 
and catechism ; and has in consequence shown little sense of the 
need of consistency in the matter of its teaching. Its doctrines 
are not so much facts, as stereotyped aspects of facts ; and it is 
afraid, so to say, of walking round them. It induces its followers 
to be content with this meagre view of revealed truths ; or, rather, 
It is suspicious, and protests or is frightened, as if it saw a figure 
*n a picture move out of its frame, when our Lord, the Blessed 
Virgin, or the Holy Apostles, are spoken of as real beings, and 



190 



Religious. — Protestantism. 



really such as Scripture implies them to be. I am not denying 
that the assent which it inculcates and elicits is genuine as re- 
gards its contracted range of doctrine, but it is at best notional. 
What Scripture especially illustrates from its first page to its last, 
is God's Providence ; and that is nearly the only doctrine held 
with a real assent* by the mass of religious Englishmen. Hence 
the Bible is so great a solace and refuge to them in trouble. I 
repeat, I am not speaking of particular schools and parties in 
England, whether of the High Church or Low, but of the mass of 
piously-minded and well-living people in all ranks of the com- 
munity (" Grammar of Assent," p. 53). 



PURITANISM. 

Puritanism f is a very peculiar creed, as being based on no 
one principle, but propping itself up upon several, and those not 
very concordant. . . And thus it contains within it the seeds of 
ruin, which time only is required to develop. At present, not 
any one principle does it carry out logically ; nor does it try to 
adjust and limit one by the other ; but as the English language is 
partly Saxon, partly Latin, with some German, some French, 
some Dutch, and some Italian, so this religious creed is made up 
of the fragments of religion, which the course of events has 
brought together and has embedded in it, something of Lutheran- 
ism, and something of Calvinism, something of Erastianism, and 
something of Zwinglianism, a little Judaism, and a little dogmat- 
ism, and not a little secularity, as if by hazard. It has no straight- 
forward view on any one point on which it professes to teach ; 
and, to hide its poverty, it has dressed itself out in a maze of 
words, which all enquirers feel and are perplexed with, yet few are 

* ["Real" and *' Notional" are here used in a technical sense, which Dr. New- 
man explains thus: — u In Notional Assent . . the mind contemplates its own 
creations instead of things ; in Real, it is directed towards things, represented by 
the impressions which they have left upon the imagination " (*• Grammar of 
A>.sent," p. 72)]. 

t [Dr. Newman uses this term to denote the system of opinion received by th« 
party in the Anglican Church known as " Evangelical."] 



Muscular Christianity. 



191 



able to penetrate. It cannot pronounce plainly what it holds 
about the Sacraments, what it means by unity, what it thinks oi 
Antiquity, what fundamentals are, what the Church ; what again it 
means by faith. It has no intelligible rule for interpreting Scrip- 
ture, beyond that of submission to the arbitrary comments which 
have come down to it, though it knows it not, from Zwingle or 
Melancthon. " Unstable as water it cannot excel." It is but the 
•nchoate state or stage of a doctrine, and its final resolution is in 
Rationalism. This it has ever shown when suffered to work itself 
out without interruption (" Essavs, Crit. and Hist. M vol i. p. 293). 



MUSCULAR CHRISTIANITY. 

There are few religions which have no points in common ; and 
these, whether true or false, when embraced with an absolute con- 
viction, are the pivots on which changes take place in that collec- 
tion of credences, opinions, prejudices, and other assents, which 
make up what is called a man's selection and adoption of a form 
of religion, a denomination, or a Church. There have been 
Protestants whose idea of enlightened Christianity has been a 
strenuous antagonism to what they consider the unmanliness 
and unreasonableness of Catholic morality, and antipathy to the 
precepts of patience, meekness, forgiveness of injuries, and 
chastity. All this they have considered a woman's religion, the 
ornament of monks, of the sick, the feeble, and the old. Lust, 
revenge, ambition, courage, pride — these, they have fancied, made 
the man, and want of them the slave. No one could fairly accuse 
such men of any great change of their convictions, if they were one 
day found to have taken up the profession of Islam (" Grammar 
of Assent," p. 241;. 



192 



Religious. — Protestantism. 



ENGLISH RELIGIOUS IDEAS. 
(I.) 

Now let me attempt to trace out how the English mind, in these 
last centuries, has come to think there is nothing good in that 
Religion which it once thought the very teaching of the Most 
High. Consider, then, this : most men, by nature, dislike labor 
and trouble ; if they labor, as they are obliged to do, they do so 
because they are obliged. They exert themselves under a stimulus 
or excitement, and just as long as it lasts. Thus they labor for 
their daily bread, for their families, or for some temporal object 
which they desire ; but they do not take on them the trouble of 
doing so without some such motive cause. Hence, in religious 
matters, having no urgent appetite after truths or desire to please 
God, or fear of the consequences of displeasing Him, or detesta- 
tion of sin, they take what comes, they form their notions at 
random, they are moulded passively from without, and this is what 
is commonly meant by " private judgment." " Private judgment" 
commonly means passive impression. Most men in this country 
like opinions to be brought to them, rather than to be at the pains 
to go out and seek for them. They like to be waited on, they like 
to be consulted for, they like to be their own centre. Asgreat men 
have their slaves or their body servants for every need of the day, 
so, in an age like this, when every one reads and has a voice in 
public matters, it is indispensable that they should have persons to 
provide them with their ideas, the clothing of their mind, and that 
of the best fashion. Hence the extreme influence of periodical 
publications at this day, quarterly, monthly, or daily ; they teach 
the multitude of men what to think and what to say. And thus it 
is that, in this age, every one is intellectual, a sort of absolute 
king, though his realm is confined to himself or to his family ; for 
at least he can think and say, though he cannot do, what he will, 
nd that with no trouble at all, because he has plenty of intel- 
ectual servants to wait on him. Is it to be supposed that a man 
4 s to take the trouble of finding out truth, when he can pay for it? 
So his only object is to have cheap knowledge ; that he may have 
his views of revelation, and dogma, and policy, and conduct — in 
short, of right and wrong — ready to hand as he has his table-cloth 
laid for his breakfast, and the materials providecl for the meal. 



English Religious Ideas. 



193 



Thus it is, then, that the English mind grows up into ijs existing 
character. There are nations naturally so formed for speculation, 
that individuals, almost as they eat and drink and work, will 
originate doctrines and follow out ideas; they, too, of course have 
their own difficulties in submitting to the Church, but such is not 
the Englishman. He is in his own way the creature of circum- 
stances ; he is bent on action ; but as to opinion he takes what 
comes, only he bargains not to be teased or troubled about it. He 
gets his opinions anyhow, some from the nursery, some at school, 
some from the world, and has a zeal for them, because they are his 
own. Other men, at least, exercise a judgment upon them, and 
prove them by a rule. He does not care to do so, but he takes 
them as he finds them, whether they fit together or not, and makes 
light of the incongruity, and thinks it a proof of common sense, 
good sense, strong shrewd sense, to do so. All he cares for is, 
that he should not be put to rights ; of that he is jealous enough. 
He is satisfied to walk about, dressed just as he is. As opinions 
come, so they must stay with him ; and, as he does not like trouble 
in his acquisition of them, so he resents criticism in his use. 

When, then, the awful form of Catholicism, of which he has 
already heard so much good and so much evil — so much evil 
which revolts him, so much good which amazes and troubles him 
— when this great vision, which hitherto he has knowm from books 
and from rumor, but not by sight and hearing, presents itself 
before him, it finds in him a very different being from the simple 
Anglo-Saxon to whom it originally came. It finds in him a being, 
not of rude nature, but of formed habits, averse to change and 
resentful of interference ; a being who looks hard at it, and repu, 
diates and loathes it, first of all, because, if listened to, it would 
give him much trouble. He wishes to be let alone ; but here is a 
teaching which purports to be revealed, which would mould his 
mind on new ideas, which he has to learn, and which, if he cannot 
learn thoroughly, he must borrow from others. The very notion of a 
theology or a ritual frightens and oppresses him ; it is a yoke, be- 
cause it makes religion difficult, not easy. There is enough of 
labor in learning matters of this life, without concerning oneself 
with the revelations of another. He does not choose to believe 
that the Almighty has told us so many things, and he readily lis- 
tens to any person or argument maintaining the negative. And,, 
moreover, he resents the idea of interference himself ; " an Eng- 



Religious. — Protestantism. 



lishman's house is his castle " ; a maxim most salutary in politics, 
most dangerous in moral conduct. He cannot bear the thought 
of not having a will of his own, or an opinion of his own, on any 
given subject of enquiry, whatever it be. It is intolerable, as he 
considers, not to be able, on the most awful and difficult of sub 
jects, to think for oneself ; it is an insult to be told that God 
has spoken and superseded investigation. 

(id 

And, further still, consider this : strange as it may be to those 
who do not know him, he really believes in that accidental collec- 
tion of tenets, of which I have been speaking ; habit has made it 
all natural to him, and he takes it for granted ; he thinks his own 
view of things as clear as day, and every other view irrational and 
ludicrous. In good faith and in sincerity of heart, he thinks the 
Englishman knows more about God's dealings with men than any 
one else ; and he measures all things in heaven and earth by the 
floating opinions which have been drifted into his mind. And 
especially is he satisfied and sure of his principles ; he conceives 
them to be the dictates of the simplest and most absolute sense, 
and it does not occur to him for a moment that objective truth 
claims to be sought, and a revealed doctrine requires to be ascer- 
tained. He himself is the ultimate sanction and appellate 
authority of all that he holds. Putting aside, then, the indignation 
which, under these circumstances, he naturally feels, in being in- 
vited to go to school again, his present opinions are an effectual 
bar to his ever recognizing the divine mission of Catholicism, for 
he criticises Catholicism simply by those opinions themselves 
which are antagonists of it, and takes his notes of truth and error 
from a source already committed against it. And thus you see 
that frequent occurrence, of really worthy persons unable to recon- 
cile their minds, do what they will, to the teaching and the ways 
of the Catholic Church. The more they see of her members, the 
more their worst suspicions are confirmed. They did not wish, 
they say, to believe the popular notions of her anti-Christian char- 
acter ; but really, after what they have seen of her authorities and 
her people, nothing is left to them but an hostility to her, which 
they are loth to adopt. They wish to think the best of ever} 7 one, 
but this ecclesiastical measure, that speech, that book, those per 



English Religious Ideas, 



sons, those expressions, that line of thought, those realized 
results, all tend one way, and force them to unlearn a charitable- 
ness which is as pernicious as it is illusory. Thus they speak \ 
alas, they do not see that they are assuming the very point in 
dispute ; for the original question is, whether Catholics or 
they are right in their respective principles and views, and to de- 
cide it merely by what is habitual to themselves is to exercise the 
double office of accuser and judge. Yet multitudes of sober and 
serious minds and well-regulated lives look out upon the Catho- 
lic Church and shrink back again from her presence, on no better 
reasons than these. They cannot endure her ; their whole being 
revolts from her; she leaves, as they speak, a bad taste in their 
mouths ; all is so novel, so strange, so unlike what is familiar to 
them, so unlike the Anglican Prayer-Book, so unlike some favor- 
ite author of their own, so different from what they do or say 
themselves, requires so much explanation, is so strained and un- 
natural, so unreal and extravagant, so unquiet, nay, so disin- 
genuous, so unfeeling, that they cannot even tolerate it. The 
Mass is so difficult to follow, and we say prayers so very 
quickly, and we sit when we should stand, and we talk so freely 
when we should be reserved, and we keep Sunday so differently 
from them, and we have such notions of our own about marriage 
and celibacy, and we approve of vows, and we class virtues and 
sins on so unreasonable a standard ; these and a thousand such 
details are, in the case of numbers, decisive proofs that we de- 
serve the hard names which are heaped on us by the world. 

(in.) 

Recollect too, that a great part of the actions of every day, 
when narrowly looked into, are neither good nor bad in them- 
selves, but only in relation to the persons who do them, and the 
circumstances or motives under which they are done. There are 
actions, indeed, which no circumstances can alter ; which, at all 
times and in all places, are duties or sins. Veracity, purity, are 
always virtues — blasphemy always a sin ; but to speak against 
another, for instance, is not always detraction, and swearing is 
lot always taking God's name in vain. What is right in one per- 
son may be wrong in another ; and hence the various opinions 
which are formed of public men, who, for the most part, cannot 



196 



Religious. — Protestantism . 



be truly judged, except with a knowledge of their principles, cha* 
racters, and motives. Here is another source of misrepresenting 
the Church and her servants ; much of what they do admits both 
of a good interpretation and a bad ; and when the world,, as I 
have supposed, starts with the hypothesis that we are hypocrites or 
tyrants, that we are unscrupulous, crafty, and profane, it is easy to 
see how the very same actions which it would extol in its friends 
it wi.l unhesitatingly condemn in the instance of the objects of its 
hatred or suspicion. When men live in their own world, in their 
own habits and ways of thought, as I have been describing, they 
contract, not only a narrowness, but what may be called a one- 
sidedness of mind. They do not judge of us by the rules they 
apply to the conduct of themselves and each other ; what they 
praise or allow in those they admire, is an offence to them in us. 
Day by day, then, as it passes, furnishes, as a matter of course, 
a series of charges against us, simply because it furnishes a suc- 
cession of our sayings and doings. Whatever we do, whatever 
we do not do, is a demonstration against us. Do we argue? men 
are surprised at our insolence or effrontery. Are we silent? we 
are underhand and deep. Do we appeal to the law? it is in order 
to evade it. Do we obey the Church? it is a sign of our dis- 
loyalty. Do we state our pretensions? we blaspheme. Do we 
conceal them ? we are liars and hypocrites. Do we displa)^ the 
pomp of our ceremonial and the habits of our Religious ? our 
presumption has become intolerable. Do we put them aside and 
dress as others ? we are ashamed of being seen, and skulk about 
as conspirators. Did a Catholic priest cherish doubts of his faith, 
it would be an interesting and touching fact, suitable for public 
meetings. Does a Protestant minister, on the other hand, doubt 
of the Protestant opinions ? he is but dishonestly eating the bread 
of the Establishment. Does a Protestant exclude Catholic books 
from his house? he is a good father and master. Does a Catholic 
do the same with Protestant tracts? he is afraid of the light. 
Protestants may ridicule a portion of our Scriptures under the 
name of the Apocrypha : we may not denounce the mere Protest- 
am translation of the Bible. Protestants are to glory in their 
obedience to their ecclesiastical head ; we may not be faithful to 
ours. A Protestant layman may determine and propound all by 
himself the terms of salvation : we are bigots and despots if we 
do but proclaim what a thousand years have sanctioned. The 



A Protestant View of Conversions. 



197 



Catholic is insidious when the Protestant is prudent ; the Pro- 
testant frank and honest when the Catholic is rash or profane. 
Not a word that we say, not a deed that we do, but is viewed in 
the medium of that one idea, by the light of that one prejudice, 
which our enemies cherish concerning us ; not a word or a deed 
but is grafted on the original assumption that we certainly come 
from below, and are the servants of Antichrist (" Occasional 
Sermons," p. 148). 



A PROTESTANT VIEW OF CONVERSIONS. 

One word here as to the growth of Catholicism, of conversions, 
and converts — the Prejudiced Man has his own view of it all. 
First, he denies that there are any conversions or converts at all. 
This is a bold game, and will not succeed in England, though I 
have been told that in Ireland it has been strenuously maintained. 
However, let him grant the fact that converts there are, and he has 
a second ground to fall back upon ; the converts are weak and 
foolish persons — notoriously so ; all their friends think so ; there 
is not a man of any strength of character or force of intellect 
among them. They have either been dreaming over their folios, 
or have been caught with the tinsel embellishments of Popish 
worship. They are lackadaisical women, or conceited young 
persons or silly squires, or the very dregs of our large towns, 
who have nothing to lose, and no means of knowing one thing 
from another. Thirdly, in corroboration : — they went over, he 
says, on such exceedingly wrong motives ; not any one of them 
but you may trace his conversion to something distinctly wrong ; 
it was love of notoriety ; it was restlessness ; it was resentment ; 
it was lightness of mind ; it was self-will. There was trickery in 
his mode of taking the step, or inconsiderateness towards the 
feelings of others. They went too soon, or they ought to have 
gone sooner. They ought to have told every one their doubts as 
soon as ever they felt them, and before they knew whether or not 
they should overcome them or no : if they had clerical charges in 
the Protestant Church, they ought to have flung them up at once t 
even at the risk of afterwards finding they had made a commotion 
for nothing. Or, on the other hand, what, forsooth, must these 



Religious, — Protestantism. 



men do when a doubt came on their mind, but at once abandon 
all their clerical duty and go to Rome, as if it were possible any- 
where to be absolutely certain? In short, they did not become 
Catholics at the right moment ; so that, however numerous they 
may be, no weight whatever attaches to their conversion. As for 
him, it does not affect him at all ; he means to die just where he 
is ; indeed, these conversions are a positive argument in favor of 
Protestantism ; he thinks still worse of Popery, in consequence 
of these men going over, than he did before. His fourth remark 
is of this sort : they are sure to come back. He prophesies that 
by this time next year, not one of them will be a Catholic. His 
fifth is as bold as the first — they have come back. This argument, 
however, of the Prejudiced Man, admits at times of being shown 
to great advantage, should it so happen that the subjects of his 
remarks have, for some reason or other, gone abroad ; for then 
there is nothing to restrain his imagination. Hence, directly a 
new Catholic is safely lodged two or three thousand miles away, 
out comes the confident news that he has returned to Protestant 
ism ; when no friend has the means to refute it. When this argu 
ment fails, as fail it must, by the time a letter can be answered, 
our Prejudiced Man falls back on his sixth commonplace, which 
is to the effect that the converts are very unhappy. He knows 
this on the first authority ; he has seen letters declaring or show- 
ing it. They are quite altered men, very much disappointed with 
Catholicism ; restless, and desirous to come back except from 
false shame. Seventhly, they are altogether deteriorated in cha- 
racter ; they have become harsh, or overbearing, or conceited, or 
vulgar. They speak with extreme bitterness against Protestant- 
ism ; have cast off their late friends, or seem to forget that they 
ever were Protestants themselves. Eighthly, they have become in 
fidels ; — alas! heedless of false witness, the Prejudiced Man 
spreads the news about, right and left, in a tone of great concern 
and distress ; he considers it very awful. Lastly, when every re- 
source has failed, and in spite of all that can be said, and sur« 
mised, and expressed, and hoped, about the persons in question 
Catholics they have become and Catholics they remain, the Pre- 
judiced Man has a last resource, he simply forgets that Protest- 
ants they ever were. They cease to have antecedents ; they cease 
to have any character, any history to which they may appeal ; 
they merge in the great fog, in which, to his eyes, everything 



Protesta?it Texts. 



199 



Catholic is enveloped ; they are dwellers in the land of romance 
and fable ; and, if he dimly contemplates them plunging and 
floundering amid the gloom, it is as griffins, wiverns, sala- 
manders, the spawn of Popery, such as are said to sport in the 
depths of the sea, or to range amid the central sands of Africa. 
He forgets that he ever heard of them ; he has no duties to their 
name ; he is released from all anxiety about them. They die to 
him (" Present Position of Catholics/' p. 243). 



PROTESTANT TEXTS. 

Protestants judge of the Apostles' doctrine, by " texts," as 
they are commonly called, taken from Scripture, and nothing 
more ; and they judge of our doctrine too, by " texts " taken from 
our writings, and nothing more. Picked verses, bits torn from 
the context, half-sentences, are the warrant of the Protestant Idea 
of what is Apostolic truth on the one hand, and, on the other, of 
what is Catholic falsehood. As they have their chips and frag- 
ments of St. Paul and St. John, so have they their chips and frag- 
ments of Suarez and Bellarmine ; and out of the former they 
make to themselves their own Christian religion, and out of the 
latter our own Anti-Christian superstition. They do not ask 
themselves sincerely, as a matter of fact and history, What did 
the Apostles teach then ? Nor do they ask sincerely, and as a 
matter of fact, What do Catholics teach now? They judge ol 
the Apostles, and they judge of us, by scraps, and on these 
scraps they exercise their private judgment — that is, their Preju- 
dice, . . . and their Assumed Principles, . . . and the 
process ends in their bringing forth, out of their scraps from the 
Apostles, what they call "Scriptural Religion," and out of their 
scraps from our theologians, what they call Popery. 

The first Christians were a living body ; they vrere thousands of 
zealous, energetic men, who preached, disputed, catechised, and 
conversed from year's end to year's end. They spoke by innumer- 
able tongues, with one heart, and one soul, all saying the same 
thing. All this multitudinous testimony about the truths of Re. 
velation, Protestants narrow down into one or two meagre sen* 
tences, which at their own will and pleasure they select from St 



200 



Religious, — Protestantism. 



Paul, and at their own will and pleasure they explain, and call 
the Gospel. They do just the same thing with us. Catholics, at 
least, have a lively illustration and evidence of the absurdity of 
Protestant private judgment as exercised on the Apostolic writ- 
ings, in the visible fact of its absurdity as exercised on them- 
selves. They, as their forefathers, the first Christians, are a 
living body; they, too, preach, dispute, catechise, converse with 
innumerable tongues, saying the same thing, as our adversaries 
confess, all over the earth. Well, then, you would think the ob- 
vious way was, if they would know what we really teach, to come 
and ask us, to talk with us, to try to enter into our views, and to 
attend to our teaching. Not at all ; they do not dream of doing 
so ; they take their '' texts " ; they have got their cut-and-dried 
specimens from our divines, which the Protestant tradition hands 
down from generation to generation, and, as by the aid of their 
verses from Scripture, they think they understand the Gospel 
better than the first Christians, so by the help of these choice ex- 
tracts from our works, they think they understand our doctrine 
better than we do ourselves. They will not allow us to explain 
our own books. So sure are they of their knowledge, and so 
superior to us, that they have no difficulty in setting us right, and 
in accounting for our contradicting them. Sometimes Catholics 
are " evasive and shuffling," which, of course, will explain every- 
thing ; sometimes they simply 11 have never been told what their 
creed really is " ; the priest keeps it from them, and cheats them ; 
as yet, too, perhaps they are " recent converts," and do not know 
the actual state of things, though they will know in time. Thus 
Protestants judge us by their " texts " ; and by " texts " I do not 
mean only passages from our writers, but all those samples of 
whatever kind, historical, ecclesiastical, biographical, or political, 
carefully prepared, improved, and finished off by successive artists 
for the occasion, which they think so much more worthy of credit 
and reliance as to facts, than us and our word, who are in the very 
communion to which those texts relate. Some good personal 
knowledge of us, and intercourse with us, not in the way of con- 
troversy or criticism, but what is prior — viz. in the way of sincere 
enquiry, in order to ascertain how things really lie — such know- 
ledge and intercourse would be worth all the conclusions, how* 
ever elaborate and subtle, from rumors, false witnessings, sus- 
picions, romantic scenes, morsels of history, morsels of theologj, 



Protestant Image Worship. 



201 



morsels of our miraculous legends, morsels of our devotional 
writers, morsels from our individual members, whether unlearned 
or intemperate, which are the " text w of the traditional Protest- 
ant viewagainst us. . . . Yet any one is thought qualified to 
attack or to instruct a Catholic in matters of his religion ; a 
country gentleman, a navy captain, a half-pay officer, with time on 
his hands, never having seen a Catholic, or a Catholic ceremonial, 
or a Catholic treatise in his life, is competent by means of one or 
two periodicals and tracts, and a set of Protestant extracts against 
Popery, to teach the Pope his own religion, and to refute a Coun- 
cil (" Present Position of Catholics/' p. 322). 



PROTESTANT IMAGE WORSHIP. 

A Protestant blames Catholics for showing honor to images ; 
yet he does it himself. And first, he sees no difficulty in a mode 
of treating them, quite as repugnant to his own ideas of what is 
rational as the practice he abominates, and that is the offering in- 
sult and mockery to them. Where is the good sense of showing 
dishonor, if it be stupid and brutish to show honor? Approba- 
tion and criticism, praise and blame, go together. I do not 
mean, of course, that you dishonor what you honor ; but that the 
two ideas of honor and dishonor so go together that where you 
can apply (rightly or wrongly, but still) where it is possible to ap- 
ply, the one, it is possible to apply the other. Tell me, then, 
what is meant by burning Bishops, or Cardinals, or Popes in 
effigy? Has it no meaning? Is it not plainly intended for an in- 
sult? Would any one who was burned in effigy feel it no insult? 
Well, then, how is it not absurd to feel pain at being dishonored 
in effigy, yet absurd to feel pleasure at being honored in 
effigy? How is it childish to honor an image, if it is not child- 
ish to dishonor it? This only can a Protestant say in defence of 
the act which he allows and practises, that he is used to it, where- 
as to the other he is not used. Honor is a new idea, it comes 
strange to him, and, wonderful to say, he does not see that he has 
admitted it in principle already in admitting dishonor, and after 
preaching against the Catholic, who crowns an image of the 



202 



JZeligious. — Protestantism. 



donna, he complacently goes his way and sets light to a straw 
effigy of Guy Fawkes. 

But this is not all ; Protestants actually set up images to re- 
present their heroes, and they show them honor without any mis- 
giving. The very flower and cream of Protestantism used to 
glory in the statue of King William, on College Green, Dublin ; 
and, though I cannot make any reference in print, I recollect well 
what a shriek they raised some years ago, when the figure was un- 
horsed. Some profane person one night applied gunpowder, and 
blew the King right out of his saddle, and he was found by those 
who took interest in him, like Dagon, on the ground. You 
might have thought the poor senseless block had life to see the 
way people took on about it, and how they spoke of his face, and his 
arms, and his legs ; yet those same Protestants, I say, would at 
the same time be horrified had I used "he" and "him"' of a 
crucifix, and would call me one of the monsters described in the 
Apocalypse did I but honor my living Lord as they their dead 
King (" Present Position of Catholics," p. 180). 



THE RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT OR THE PRI- 
VATE RIGHT OF JUDGMENT? 

For all the haranguing and protesting which goes on in Exeter 
and other halls, this great people is not such a conscientious sup- 
porter of the sacred right of Private Judgment as a good Pro- 
testant would desire. Why should we go out of our way, one 
and all of us, to impute personal motives in explanation of the 
conversion of every individual convert, as he comes before us, if 
there were in us, the public, an adhesion to that absolute, and 
universal, and unalienable principle, as its titles are set forth in 
heraldic style, high and broad, sacred and awful, the right and the 
duty, and the possibility of Private Judgment? Why should we 
confess it in the general, yet promptly and pointedly deny it in 
every particular, if our hearts retained more than the " magni 
nominis umbra," when we preached up the Protestant principle ? 
Is it not sheer wantonness and cruelty in Baptist, Independent, 
and Irvingite, Wesleyan, Establishmentman, Jumper, and Mor- 
monite, to delight in trampling on and crushing these manifesta 



The Rationale of Protestant Persecution. 



203 



tions of their own pure and precious charter, instead of dutifully 
and reverently exalting, at Bethel, or at Dan, each instance of it, 
as it occurs, to the gaze of its professing votaries ? If a staunch 
Protestant's daughter turns Roman, and betakes herself to a con- 
vent, why does he not exult in the occurrence? Why does he not 
give a public breakfast, or hold a meeting, or erect a memorial, 
or write a pamphlet in honor of her, and of the great undying 
principles she has so gloriously vindicated ? Why is he in this 
base, disloyal style muttering about priests, and Jesuits, and the 
horror of nunneries, in solution of the phenomenon, when he 
has the fair and ample form of Private Judgment rising before his 
eyes, and pleading with him, and bidding him impute good mo 
tives, not bad, and in very charity ascribe to the influence of a 
high and holy principle, to a right and a duty of every member of 
the family of man, what his poor human instincts are fain to set 
down as a folly or a sin? All this would lead us to suspect that 
the doctrine of Private Judgment in its simplicity, purity, and in- 
tegrity — Private Judgment, all Private Judgment, and nothing 
but Private Judgment — is held by very few persons indeed, and 
that the great mass of the population are either stark unbelievers 
in it, or deplorably dark about it ; and that even the minority, 
who are in a manner faithful to it, have glossed and corrupted 
the true sense of it by a miserably faulty reading, and hold not 
the Right of Private Judgment, but the Private Right of Judg- 
ment ; in other words, their own private right, and no one's else 
(" Essays, Crit. and Hist./' vol. II. p. 339). 



THE RATIONALE OF PROTESTANT PERSECUTION. 

I might leave Protestants to unravel the mystery how it is that, 
after all their solemn words against persecution, they have per- 
secuted, whenever, wherever, and however they could, from 
Elizabeth down to Victoria, from the domestic circle up to the 
Legislature, from black looks to the extremity of the gibbet and 
stake ; I might leave them, but I am tempted to make them one 
parting suggestion. I observe, then, it is no accident that they 
unite in their history this abjuration with this practice of religious 



204 



Religious. — Protestantism. 



coercion ; the two go together. I say it boldly and decidedly, 
and do not flinch from the avowal — Protestants attempt too much, 
and they end in doing nothing; they go too far; they attempt 
what is against nature, and therefore impossible. I am not 
proving this ; it is a separate subject ; it would require a treatise. 
I am only telling the Protestant world why it is they ever perse- 
cute in spite of their profession. It is because their doctrine o f 
private judgment, as they hold it, is extreme and unreal, and n« 
cessarily leads to excesses in the opposite direction. They ai 
attempting to reverse nature, with no warrant for doing so ; and 
nature has its ample revenge upon them. They altogether ignore 
a principle which the Creator has put into our breasts, the duty 
of maintaining the truth, and, in consequence, they deprive them- 
selves of the opportunity of controlling, restraining, and directing 
it. So it was with the actors in the first French Revolution ; never 
were there such extravagant praises of the rights of reason ; 
never so signal, so horrible a profanation of them. They cried 
"Liberty, Equality, Fraternity," and they proceeded to massacre 
the priests, and to hurry the laity by thousands to the scaffold or 
the river-side. 

Far other is the conduct of the Church. Not to put the matter 
on higher and doctrinal grounds, it is plain, if only to prevent 
the occurrence of injustice and cruelty, she must — to use a phrase 
of the day — direct impulses which it is impossible from the na- 
ture of man to destroy. And in the course of eighteen hundred 
years, though her children have been guilty of various excesses, 
though she herself is responsible for isolated acts of most solemn 
import, yet for one deed of severity with which she can be charged, 
there have been hundreds of her acts, repressive of the persecutor 
and protective of his victims. She has been a never-failing fount 
of humanity, equity, forbearance, and compassion, in consequence 
of her very recognition of national ideas and instincts, which 
Protestants would vainly ignore and contradict ; and this is the 
solution of the paradox stated by a distinguished author,* to the 
effect that the Religion which forbids private judgment in mat- 
ters of Revelation is historically more tolerant than the Religion 
which upholds it. His words will bear repetition : " We find in 
ail parts of Europe scaffolds prepared to punish crimes against 



* Balmez' Protestantism, trans., p 166. 



Protestantism Drifting into Scepticism. 205 



religion. Scenes which sadden the soul were everywhere wit- 
nessed. Rome is one exception to the rule ; Rome, which it has 
been attempted to represent a monster of intolerance and cruelty. 
It is true, that the Popes have not preached, like the Protestants, 
universal toleration ; but the facts show the difference between 
the Protestants and the Popes. The Popes, armed with a tribunal 
of intolerance, have scarce spilt a drop of blood ; Protestants and 
Philosophers have shed it in torrents" (" Present Position of 
Catholics," p. 220). 



PROTESTANTISM DRIFTING INTO SCEPTICISM. 

Disputants may maintain, if they please, that religious doubt 
is our natural, our normal state ; that to cherish doubts is our 
duty ; that to complain of them is impatience ; that to dread them 
is cowardice ; that to overcome them is inveracity ; that it is even 
a hcppy state, a state of philosophic enjoyment, to be conscious 
of them ; — but after all, unavoidable or not, such a state is not 
natural and not happy, if the voice of mankind is to decide the 
question. English minds, in particular, have too much of a re- 
ligious temper in them, as a natural gift, to acquiesce for any 
long time in positive, active doubt. For doubt and devo- 
tion are incompatible with each other ; every doubt, be it greater 
or less, stronger or weaker, involuntary as well as voluntary, acts 
upon devotion, so far forth, as water sprinkled, or dashed, or 
poured upon a flame. Real and proper doubt kills faith and de- 
votion with it; and even involuntary or half deliberate doubt, 
though it does not actually kill faith, goes far to kill devotion ; 
and religion without devotion is little better than a burden, and 
soon becomes a superstition. Since, then, this is a day of objec- 
tion and of doubt about the intellectual basis of Revealed Truth, 
it follows that there is a great deal of secret discomfort and dis- 
tress in the religious portion of the community, the result of that 
general curiosity in speculation and enquiry which has been the 
growth among us of the last twenty or thirty years.* 

The people of this country, being Protestants, appeal to Scrip. 



* [This passage was written in t866,] 



2o6 



Religious. — Protestantism . 



ture, when a religious question arises, as their ultimate informant 
and decisive authority in all such matters ; but who is to decide 
for them the previous question, that Scripture is really such an 
authority? When, then, as at this time, its divine authority is the 
very point to be determined, that is the character and extent of its 
inspiration and of its component parts, then they find themselves 
at sea, without the means of directing their course. Doubting 
about the authority of Scripture, they doubt about its substantial 
truth ; doubting about its truth, they have doubts about the object 
which it sets before their faith, about the historical accuracy and 
objective reality of the picture which it presents to us of our Lord. 
We are not speaking of wilful doubting, but of those painful mis- 
givings, greater or less, to which we have already referred. Re- 
ligious Protestants, when they think calmly on the subject, can 
hardly conceal from themselves that they have a house without 
logical foundation, which contrives, indeed, for the present to stand, 
but which may go any day — and where are they then ? 

Of course Catholics will bid them receive the Canon of Scrip- 
ture on the authority of the Church, in the spirit of St. Augustine's 
well-known words : " I should not believe the Gospel, were 
I not moved by the authority of the Catholic Church." But who, 
they ask, is to be voucher in turn for the Church and for St. Au- 
gustine ? Is it not as difficult to prove the authority of the Church 
and her doctors as the authority of the Scriptures? We Catholics 
answer, and with reason, in the negative ; but since they cannot 
be brought to agree with us here, what argumentative ground is 
open to them? Thus they seem drifting, slowly, perhaps, but 
surely, in the direction of scepticism (" Discussions and Argu 
ments/' p. 366). 




Section II.— ANGLICANISM. 



THE ANGLICAN VIEW OF THE VISIBLE CHURCH. 

The high school of Anglicans . . upholds the existence of a 
visible Church as firmly as Catholics, and the only question be- 
tween the two parties is, what and where the Church is ; in what 
it consists * and on this point it is that they differ. This Church, 
this spiritually endowed body, this minister of the Sacraments, 
teacher ol Gospel truth, possessor of that power of binding and 
loosing, commonly called the power of the keys, is this Divine 
creation coincident, as Catholics hold, with the whole extended 
body of Christians everywhere, so as to be in its essence one and 
only one organized association ? or, on the other hand, as [An- 
glicans insist,] is every separate bishopric, every diocesan unit, 
of which that whole is composed, properly and primarily the 
Church which has the promises, each of them being, like a crys- 
tallization, only a repetition of the rest, each of them, in point of 
privileges, as much the perfect Church as all together, each equal 
to each, each independent of each, each invested with full spiritual 
powers, in solidum, as St. Cyprian speaks, none subject to any 
none bound to union with other by any law of its being, or condi- 
tion of its prerogatives, but all free from all, except as regards the 
duty of mutual love, and only called one Church when taken in 
the aggregate, or in its Catholicity, though really multiform, by a 
conversational misnomer or figure of speech, or abstraction of the 
mind, as when all men, viewed as one, are called " man." . . 

Now it is very intelligible to deny that there is any divinely es- 
tablished, divinely commissioned, Church at all ; but to hold that 
the one Church is realized and perfected in each of a thousand 

independent corporate units, co-ordinate, bound by no necessary 

207 



208 



Religious. — Anglicanism. 



intercommunion, adjusted into no divine organized whole, is a 
tenet not merely unknown to Scripture, but so plainly impossible 
to carry out practically, as to make it clear that it never would 
have been devised except by men, who, conscientiously believing 
in a visible Church, and who, conscientiously opposed to Rome; 
had nothing left for them, whether they would or would not, but 
to entrench themselves in the paradox, that the Church was one 
indeed, and the Church was Catholic indeed, but that the one 
Church was not the Catholic, and the Catholic Church was not 
the one. . . 

If it be asked of me how, with my present views of the inherent 
impracticability of the Anglican theory of Church polity, I could 
ever have held it myself, I answer that, though swayed by great 
names, I never was without misgivings about the difficulties which 
it involved, and that as early as 1837, in my volume in defence of 
" Anglicanism, as contrasted with Romanism and Popular Pro- 
testantism," I expressed my sense of these difficulties* ("Essays, 
Crit. and Hist.," vol. II. pp. 90-99). 



THE " BRANCH THEORY." 

What is called the " Branch Theory " is, that the Roman, Greek, 
and Anglican Communions make up the one visible, indivisible 
Church of God which the Apostles founded, to which the promise 
of perseverance was made ; a view which is as paradoxical when 
regarded as a fact, as it is heterodox when regarded as a doctrine 
Such surely is the judgment which must be pronounced upon it 
in itself, and as considered apart from the motives which have led 
Anglicans to its adoption, for these, when charitably examined, 
. . are far from reprehensible ; on the contrary, they betoken a 
goodwill towards Catholics, a Christian spirit, and a religious 
earnestness, which Catholics ought to be the last to treat with 
slight or unkindness. 

Let it once be admitted that in certain minds misconceptions 
and prejudices may exist, such as to make it their duty in con- 



* [See p. 40 ] 



The "Branch Theory:' 



209 



science (though it be a false conscience) to remain in Anglicanism, 
and then this paradoxical view of the Catholic Church is in them 
better, nearer the truth, and more hopeful than any other errone- 
ous view of it. First, because it is the view of men deeply im- 
pressed with the great doctrine and precept of unity. Such men 
cannot bear to think of the enormous scandal — the loss of faith, 
the triumph to infidels, the obstacle to heathen conversion — re- 
sulting from the quarrels of Christians with each other ; and they 
cannot rest until they can form some theory by which they can 
alleviate it to the imagination. They recollect our Lord's most 
touching words, just before His passion, in which He made unity 
the great note and badge of His religion, and they wish to be pro- 
vided with some explanation of this apparent broad reversal of it, 
both for their own sake, and for that of others. As there are 
Protestants whose expedient for this purpose is to ignore all 
creeds and all forms of worship, and to make unity consist in a 
mere union of hearts, an intercourse of sentiment and work, and an 
agreement to differ on theological points, so the persons in ques- 
tion endeavor to discern the homogeneity of the Christian name 
in a paradoxical and compulsory resolution of the doctrines and 
rites of Rome, Greece, and Canterbury, to some general form 
common to all three. 

Nor is this all ; the kindliness of the theory is shown by the 
strong contrast which it presents to a persuasion, very strong and 
widely prevalent in the English Establishment, in regard to the 
Catholic Church. The palmary, the most effective argument of 
the Reformers against us, was that Rome was Antichrist. It was 
Mr. Keble's idea that without this tenet the Reformers would have 
found it impossible to make head against the prestige, the im- 
posing greatness, the establishment, the momentum of Catholi- 
cism. There was no medium ; it was either from God or from the 
Evil One. Is it too much to say, that wherever Protestantism has 
been in earnest, and (what is called) spiritual, there this odious 
imagination has been vigorous? Is it too much to say that it is 
the received teaching of Anglican bishops and divines, from Lati- 
mer down to Dr. Wordsworth? Have Catholics then no bowels 
of compassion for [those who] adopt such a Via media towards 
the Church as I have been describing? . . 

The third motive which leads religious Anglicans to hold the 
doctrine in question is one of a personal nature, but of no unwor* 



210 



Religious. — Anglicanism. 



thy sort. Though they think it a duty to hold off from us, they 
cannot be easy at their own separation from the orbis terrarum, 
and from the Apostolic See, which is the consequence of it ; and 
the pain it causes them, and the expedient they take to get relieved 
of it, should interest us in their favor, since these are the measures 
of the real hold, which, in spite of their still shrinking from the 
Church, Catholic principles and ideas have upon their intellects 
and affections. 

These remarks, however,. in favor of the advocates of what may 
be called the Anglican paradox are quite consistent with a serious 
apprehension that there are those among them, known of course 
only to God, who make that paradox the excuse for stifling an en- 
quiry which conscience tells them they ought to pursue, and turn* 
ing away from the light which otherwise would lead them to the 
Church. And, then, as to this paradox itself, all the learning, all 
the argumentative skill of its ablest champions, would fail in 
proving that two sovereign states were numercially one state, 
even although they happened to have the same parentage, the 
same language, the same form of government ; and yet the gulf 
between Rome and England, which is greater than this demarca- 
tion between state and state . . [Anglicans] merely call "an 
interruption of external union!" (" Essays, Crit. and Hist./* 
vol. I. pp. 1S1-184). 



THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND. 

We must not indulge our imagination in the view we take of 
the National Establishment. If, indeed, we dress it up in an ideal 
form, as if it ware something real, with an independent and aeon 
tinuous existence, and a proper history, as if it were in deed and 
not only in name a Church, then indeed we may feel interest in it, 
and reverence towards it, and affection for it, as men have fallen 
in love with pictures, or knights in romance do battle for high 
dames whom they have never seen. Thus it is that students of the 
Fathers, antiquarians, and poets, begin by assuming that the body 
to which they belong is that of which they read in times past, and 
then proceed to decorate it with that majesty and beauty of which 



The Church of England. 



2IJ 



history tells, or which their genius creates. Nor is it by an eas> 
process or a light effort that their minds are disabused of thu 
error. It is an error for many reasons too dear to them to be 
readily relinquished. But at length, either the force of circum- 
stances or some unexpected accident dissipates it ; and, as in fairy 
tales, the magic castle vanishes when the spell is broken, ana 
nothing is seen but the wild heath, the barren rock, and the for- 
lorn sheep-walk, so is it with us as regards the Church of Eng. 
land, when we look in amazement on that we thought so un- 
earthly, and find so commonplace or worthless. Then we per- 
ceive that aforetime we have not been guided by reason, but 
biassed by education and swayed by affection. We see in the 
English Church, I will not merely say no descent from the first 
ages, and no relationship to the Church in other lands, but we 
see no body politic of any kind ; we see nothing more or less 
than an Establishment, a department of Government, or a func- 
tion or operation of the State — without a substance — a mere col- 
lection of officials, depending on and living in the supreme civil 
power. Its unity and personality are gone, and with them its 
power of exciting feelings of any kind. It is easier to love orhate 
an abstraction, than so commonplace a framework or mechan- 
ism. We regard it neither with anger, nor with aversion, nor with 
contempt, any nore than with respect or interest. It is but one as- 
pect of the State, or mode of civil governance ; it is responsible 
for nothing ; it can appropriate neither praise nor blame ; but, 
whatever feeling it raises is to be referred on, by the nature of the 
case, to the Supreme Power whom it represents, and whose will is 
its breath. And hence it has no real identity of existence in dis- 
tinct periods, unless the present Legislature or the present Court 
can affect to be the offspring and disciple of its predecessor. Nor 
can it in consequence be said to have any antecedents, or any fu 
ture ; or to live, except in the passing moment. As a thing with 
out a soul, it does not contemplate itself, define its intrinsic con- 
stitution, or ascertain its position. It has no traditions ; it cannot 
be said to think ; it does not know what it holds, and what it 
does not ; * it is not even conscious of its own existence. It has 

* This fact is strikingly brought out in Archbishop Sumner's correspondence 
with Mr. Maskell. " You ask me," he says, " whether you are to conclude that 
you ought not to teach, and have not authority of the Church to teach, any of th« 



212 



Religious. — Anglicanism. 



no love for its members, or what are sometimes called its children 
nor any instinct whatever, unless attachment to its master, or love 
of its place, may be so called. Its fruits, as far as they are good, 
are to be made much of, as long as they last, for they are transi- 
ent, and without succession ; its former champions of orthodoxy 
are no earnest of orthodoxy now ; they died, and there was no 
reason why they should be reproduced. Bishop is not like bishop, 
more than king is like king, or ministry like ministry ; its 
Prayer-Book is an Act of Parliament of two centuries ago, and 
its cathedrals and its chapter houses are the spoils of Catholicism. 

I have said all this, not in declamation, but to bring out clearly 
why I cannot feel interest of any kind in the National Church, 
nor put any trust in it at all from itspast history, as if it were, in 
however narrow a sense, a guardian of orthodoxy. It is as little 
bound by what it said or did formerly, as this morning's newspa- 
per by its former numbers, except as it is bound by the Law ; and 
while it is upheld by the Law it will not be weakened by the sub- 
traction of individuals, nor fortified by their continuance. Its 
life is an Act of Parliament. It will not be able to resist the Arian, 
Sabellian, or Unitarian heresies now, because Bull or Waterland 
resisted them a century or two before ; nor, on the other hand, 
would it be unable to resist them, though its more orthodox theo- 
logians were presently to leave it. It will be able to resist them 
while the State gives the word ; it would be unable, when the 
State forbids it. Elizabeth boasted that she " tuned her pulpits ;" 
Charles forbade discussions on Predestination ; George on the 
Holy Trinity ; Victoria allows differences on Holy Baptism. * 
While the nation wishes an Establishment, it will remain, what- 
ever individuals are for it or against it ; and that which deter- 

doctrines spoken of in your five former questions, in the dogmatical terms there 
stated? To which I reply, A re they contained in the Word of God? St. Paul 
says. 1 Preach the word.' . . Now, whether the doctrines concerning which you 
enquire are contained in the Word of God, and can be proved thereby, you hare 
the same means of discovering as myself, and I have no special authority to de- 
clare." The Archbishop at least would quite allow what I have said in the text, 
even though he might express himself differently. 

* [Since this was written, in 1850, similar 11 differences" have been allowed by 
the Supreme Court of Appeal in Ecclesiastical Causes with regard to various otbe* 
mportant matters, such as the eternal reprobation of the finally impenitent, tive 
inspiration of Scripture, and the Real and Adorable Presence in the Eucharist.-] 



Anglican Orders. 



2*3 



mines its existence will determine its voice. Of course the pre? 
ence or departure of individuals will be one of various disturbing 
causes, which may delay or accelerate by a certain number of 
years a change in its teaching ; but, after all, the change itself 
depends on events broader and deeper than these ; it depends on 
changes in the nation. As the nation changes its political, so may 
it change its religious views ; the causes which carried the Reform 
Bill and Free Trade may make short work with orthodoxy (" An- 
glican Difficulties," p. 4). 



ANGLICAN ORDERS. 

As to Anglican Orders, I certainly do think them doubtful and 
untrustworthy, and that independent of any question arising out 
of Parker's consecration, into which I will not enter. Granting 
for argument's sake, that that consecration was in all respects what 
its defenders say it was, still I feel a large difficult)'' in accepting 
the Anglican Succession and Commission of the Ministry, arising 
out of the historical aspect of the Anglican Church and of its pre- 
lates, an aspect which suggests a grave suspicion of their acts 
from first to last. I had occasion to make some remarks on this 
subject several years ago ; * but I left them unfinished, as feeling 
that I was distressing, without convincing, men whom I love and 
respect by impugning an article of their belief, which to them is 
sacred, in proportion as it is vital. Now, however, when time has 
passed, and I am opposing, not them but my former self, I may 
be allowed, pace charissimorum virorum, to explain myself, and 
leave my explanations on record as regards some points to which 
exception was then taken. And, in so doing, I do but profess to 
be setting down a view of the subject very clear to my own mind, 
and which, as I think, ought to be clear to them ; but of course I 
am not laying down the law on a point on which the Church has 
not directly and distinctly spoken, nor implying that I am not 
open to arguments on the other side, if such are forthcoming, 
which I do not anticipate. 



[See p. 63.] 



214 



Religions. — A ngUcanism , 



First of all, I will attempt to set right what I thought I had set 
right at the time. A misstatement was made some time ago in 
"'Notes and Queries," to the effect that I had expressed ''doubts 
about Maehyn's Diary."' In spite of my immediate denial of it in 
that publication, it has been repeated in a recent learned 
work on Anglican Orders. Let me then again declare that I 
know nothing whatever about Machyn, and that I never mention- 
ed his name in anything I have ever written, and that I have no 
doubts whatever, because I have no opinion whatever, favorable 
or unfavorable, about him and his Diary. Indeed, it is plain that, 
since, in the letter in which I was supposed to have spoken on 
the subject, I had dismissed altogether what is called the " anti- 
quarian " question concerning the consecrations of 1559, as one 
which I felt to be dreary and interminable, I should have been 
simply inconsistent had I introduced Machyn or his Diary into 
it, and should, in point of logic, have muddled my argument. 

That argument, which I maintain now as then, is as follows 
That the consecrations of 1559 were not only facts, they were acts ; 
that those acts were not done and over once for all, but were 
only the first of a series of acts done in a long course of years 
that these acts too, all of them, were done by men of certain posi- 
tive opinions and intentions, and none of these opinions and 
views, from first to last, of a Catholic complexion, but, on the con- 
trary, erroneous and heretical. And I questioned whether men 
of these opinions could by means of a mere rite or formulary 
however correct in itself, star: and continue in a religious com- 
amnion, such as the Anglican, a ministerial succession which 
could be depended upon as inviolate. I do not see what guaran- 
tee is producible for the faithful observance of a sacred rite, in 
Form matter and intention, through so long a period, in 
the nands of such administrators. And again, the existing state 
of the Anglican body, so ignorant of fundamental truth, so over- 
ran with iiversified error, would be but a sorry outcome of Apos- 

ical ordinances and graces. u By their fruits shall ye know 
them. M Revelation involves in its very idea a teaching and a 
hearing of Divine Truth. What clear and steady light of Truth 
is there in the Church of England? What candlestick upright 
and arm upon waich it has been set? This seems to me what 
Leslie calls "a short and easy method;" it is drawn out from 
one of the Notes of the Cnurch. Wnen we look at the Anglican 



Anglican Orders. 



Communion, not in the books, in the imagination, or in the affec- 
tions of its champions, but as it is in fact, its claims to speak in 
Christ's name are refuted by its very condition. An Apostolical 
Ministry necessarily involves an apostolical teaching. This prac- 
tical argument was met at the time by two objections ; first, that 
it was far-fetched, and next, that in a Catholic, it was suicidal. I 
do not see that it is either, and I proceed to say why : 

I. As to its being far-fetched or unreasonable ; if so, it is 
strange that it should have lately approved itself to a writer 
placed in very different circumstances, who has used it, not 
indeed against Anglican Orders, for he firmly upholds them, but 
against Swedish ; — I mean Dr. Littledale. This learned and zeal- 
ous man, in his late Lecture at Oxford, decides that a certain un- 
catholic act, which he specifies, of the Swedish Ecclesiastical Es- 
tablishment, done at a particular time and place, has so bad a 
look as to suffice, independent of all investigation into documents 
of past history, at once to unchurch it, — which is to go much fur- 
ther in the use of my argument than I should think it right to go 
myself. " Sweden," he says, "professes to have retained an Apos- 
tolical succession ; I am satisfied from historical evidence that she 
has nothing of the kind ; but the late Chaplain to the Swedish 
embassy in London has been good enough to supply me with an 
important disproof of his own orders. During a long illness, from 
which he was suffering some time ago, he entrusted the entire 
charge of his flock to a Danish pastor, until such time as his own 
successor was at length sent from Sweden. His official position 
must have made the sanction of the authorities, both in Church 
and State, necessary for a delegation of his duties, so that the act 
cannot be classed with an obscure Yorkshire incumbent, the other 
day, who invited an Anabaptist minister to fill his pulpit. And 
thus we gather that the quisi Episcopal Church of Sweden treats 
Presbyterian ministers on terms of perfect equality." 

Here then, a writer, whose bias is towards the Church of Eng- 
land, distinctly lays down the principle, that a lax ecclesiastical 
practice, ascertained by even one formal instance, apart from docu- 
mentary evidence, or ritual observance, is sufficient in itself to con- 
stitute an important disproof of the claim advanced by a nation to 
the profession of an Apostolical Succession in its clergy. I speak 
here only of the principle involved in Dr. Littledale's argument, 
which is the same as my own principle, though, for myself, I do 



2l6 



Religious, — Anglicanism. 



not say more than that Anglican ordinations are doubtful, whereas 

he considers the Swedish to be simply null. Nor again should I 
venture to assert that one instance of irregularity, such as that 
which he adduces, is sufficient to carry on me or (much less) him, 
to our respective conclusions. To what indeed does his ''dis- 
proof of Swedish orders come but to this ; that the Swedish au 
thorities think that Presbyterianism, as a religion> has in its doc- 
trines and ordinances what is called " the root of the matter," and 
that the Episcopal form is nothing more than what I have [else- 
where] * called "the extra twopence?" Do the highest living 
authorities in the Anglican Church, Queen or Archbishop, think 
very differently from this? Would they not, if they dared, do just 
what the late Swedish Chaplain did, and think it a large wisdom 
and a true charity to do so? 

So much on the reasonableness of my argument. I conceive 
there is nothing evasive in refusing to decide the question of Or- 
ders by the mere letter of an Ordination Service, to the neglect of 
more elementary and broader questions ; nothing far-fetched in 
taking into account the opinions and practices of its successive 
administrators, unless Anglicans may act towards the Swedes as 
Catholics may not act towards Anglicans, Such is the common 
sense of the matter, and that it is the Catholic sense, too, a few 
woids will show. 

It will be made clear in three propositions : — First, the Angli- 
can Bishops for three centuries have lived and died in heresy (I 
am not questioning their good faith and invincible ignorance, 
which is an irrelevant point) ; next, it is far from certain, it is at 
the utmost only probable, that orders conferred by heretics are 
valid ; lastly, in administering the Sacraments, the safer side, not 
merely the more probable, must ever be taken. And as to the 
proof of these three points : — as regards the first of them, I ask, how 
many Anglican Bishops have believed in transubstantiation, or 
in the necessity of saramental penance ? yet to deny these dogmas 
is to be a heretic. Secondly., as to orders conferred by heretics, 
there is, I grant, a strong case for their validity, but then there is 
also a strong case against it (vid. " Bingham Antiq." iv. 7) ; so 

* [ " Men speak as if 4 Apostolical Order' were (to use a homely illustration) 
like . . the 1 politeness,' the charge for which m soni2 dames* schools used to 
\*t an extra twopence." Essays, Crit. ani Hist , vol. i. p. 365.] 



Anglican Orders. 



217 



that, at most, heretical ordination is not certainly but only prob- 
ably valid. As to the third point, viz., that in conferring Sacra- 
ments, not merely the more probable, but the safer side must be 
taken, and that they must practically be considered invalid when 
they are not certainly valid, this is the ordinary doctrine of the 
Church. " Opinio probabilis," says St. Alfonso Liguori, "est 
ilia, quae gravi aliquo innititur fundamento, apto ad hominis pru- 
dentis assensum inclinandum. In sacramentorum collatione, non 
potest minister uti opinione probabili, aut probabiliori, de sacra- 
menti valore ; sed tutiores sequendae sunt, aut moraliter certae." * 
Pope Benedict XIV. supplies us with an illustration of this 
principle, even as regards a detail of the rite itself. In his time, 
an answer was given from Rome, in the case of a candidate for the 
priesthood, who in the course of his ordination had received the 
imposition of hands, but accidentally neglected to receive from the 
Bishop the Paten and Chalice. It was to the effect that he was bound 
to be ordained over again, sub conditione.f What Anglican can- 

* The principle of the " tutior" opinion applies also to the rule of three bishops 
for a consecration, about which Hallier says : — u An consecratio episcopi, omnino 
nulla, irrita, et invalida sit, vel solum illegitima, quae a paucioribus tribus episco- 
pis peracta fuerit ; Caietanus, Bellarminus, Vasquez et alii affirmantem partem se- 
quuntur (nisi ecclesise dispensatio accident) ; negantem vero Paludanus . . Syl- 
vester. . et alii. . . Difficilis utique haec controversia est, in qua tamen 
posterior et longe probabilior, et fortioribus innixa mihi videtur argumentis. . . 
Tamen prior communis est, et hocce tempore magis recepta" (De S. Ordin. T. 
11. pp. 299-308). 

t Benedict says, Syn. Dioec. vin. 10 : — " Quidam sacerdotio initiandus, etsi 
omnes consuetas manus impositiones ab episcopo accepisset, ad episcopum tamen, 
solita patense cum hostia et calicis cum vino instrumenta porrigentem, ad alia tunc 
temporis distractus, non accessit. Re postea detecta, quid facto opus esset, dubita* 
turn, atque a Sacra Congregatione petitum est." After giving his own opinion^ 
11 Nihil esse iterandum, sed caute supplendum, quod per errorem prsetermissum, 
he states the decision of the Sacred Congregation : " Sacra Congregatio totam 
Ordinationem sub conditione iterandam rescripsit." And Scavini Theol. Mor. b. 
in. p. 278, referring to the passage in Benedict, says of the "libri traditio," as 
well as the u manuum impositio," in the ordination of a deacon : '* Probabile est 
libri traditionem de essentia. . . . quare pro praxi concludimus, utramque esse 
adhibendam, cum agatur de Sacramentis ; et, si quidpiam, ex istis fuerit omissam, 
sub conditione ordinationem iterandam esse." It is true that Father Perrone, in 
1863, on his asking as to the necessity of the u physicus tactus " (as Father 
Ephrem before him in 1661), received for answer as Ephrem did, that to insist on 
it was a scruple (Gury de Ord.) ; but we are here concerned not with the mere 
physical " tactus," but the moral k traditio instrumentorum." 



fi8 



Religious, — Anglicanism. 



didat; for the priesthood has ever touched physically or even 

morally Paten or Chalice in his ordination, from Archbishop 
Parker to Archbishop Tait? In truth, the Catholic rite, whether 
it differs from itself or not in different ages, still in every age, age 
after age, is itself, and nothing but itself. It is a concrete whole, 
one and indivisible, and acts per modum unius ; and having been 
established by the Church, and being in possession, it cannot be 
cut up into bits, be docked and twisted, or split into essentials 
and non-essentials, genus and species, matter and form, at the 
heretical will of a Cranmer or a Ridley, or turned into a fancy 
ordinal by a royal commission of divines, without a sacrilege 
perilous to its vitality. Though the delivery of the sacred vessels 
was not primitive, it was part of the existing rite, three centuries 
ago, as it is now, and could not, and cannot be omitted, without 
prejudice to the ecclesiastical status of those who are ordained 
without it. 

Whether indeed, as time goes on, the Pope, in the plenitude of 
his power, could, with the aid of his theologians, obtain that 
clearer light, which the Church has not at present, on the whole 
question of ordination, for which St. Leo IX. so earnestly prayed, 
and thereby determine what is at present enveloped in such doubt- 
fulness, viz., the validity of heretical ordinations, and, what is still 
more improbable than the abstract proposition, the validity of 
Anglican Orders in particular, is a subject on which I do not 
enter. As the matter stands, all we see is a hierarchical body, 
whose opinions through three hundred years compromise their 
acts, who do not themselves believe that they have the gifts which 
their zealous adherents ascribe to them, who in their hearts deny 
those sacramental formulas which their country's law obliges them 
to use, who conscientiously shudder at assuming real episcopal 
or sacerdotal power, who resolve " Receive the Holy Ghost" into 
a prayer, "Whose sins ye remit are remitted " into a license to 
preach, and " This is My Body, this is My Blood " into an 
allegory. 

And then, supposing if ever these great difficulties were over- 
come, after all would follow the cardinal question which Benedict 
XIV. opens, as I have shown, about the sufficiency of the rite 
itself. 

Any how, as things now stand, it is clear no Anglican bishop 
or priest can by Catholics be recognized as such. If, indeed, 



Anglican Orders, 



219 



earnestness of mind and purity of purpose could ever be a sub- 
stitute for the formal conditions of a Sacrament, which Apostle* 
have instituted and the Church maintains, certainly in that case 
one might imagine it to be so accepted in many an Anglican 
ordination. I do believe that, in the case of many men, it is the 
one great day of their lives, which cannot come twice, the day on 
which, in their fresh youth, they freely dedicated themselves and 
all their powers to the service of the Redeemer, — solemn and joy- 
ful at the time, and ever after fragrant in their memories : — it is so; 
but devotion cannot reverse the past, nor good faith fulfil its own 
aspirations ; and it is because I feel this, and in no temper of 
party, that I refuse to entertain an imagination which is neither 
probable in fact, nor Catholic in spirit. If we do not even receive 
the baptism of Anglicans, how can we receive their ordinations? 

2. But now, secondly, comes the question, whether the argu- 
ment, used above against Anglican, may not be retorted on Catho- 
lic ordinations ; — for it may be objected that, however Catholics 
may claim to themselves the tradition of doctrine and rite, they 
do not profess to be secure against bad ecclesiastics any more 
than Protestants ; that there have been times of ignorance, vio- 
lence, unscrupulousness, in the history of the Catholic Church ; 
and that if Anglican Orders are untrustworthy, because of the 
chance mistakes in three hundred years, much more so are Ca- 
tholic, which have run a whole eighteen hundred ; in short, that I 
have but used against the Anglican ministry the old, notorious 
argument of Chillingworth and Macaulay, an argument which is 
of a sceptical character in them, and in a Catholic suicidal also. 

Now I do not know what is meant by calling such an argument 
sceptical. It seems to me a very fair argument. Scepticism is 
the refusal to be satisfied with reasons which ought to satisfy. To 
be sceptical is to be unreasonable. But what is there unreason- 
able, what extravagant in idea, or inconsistent with experience, in 
recognizing the chance of important mistakes, here or there, in a 
given succession of acts? I do certainly think it most probable, 
that an intricate series of ordinations through three hundred jears, 
and much more through eighteen hundred, will have flaws in it. 
Who does not think so? It will have them to a certainty, and is 
in itself untrustworthy. By u untrustworthy in itself," I mean, 
humanly speaking; for if indeed there be any special protec- 
tion promised to it, beyond nature, to secure it against errors and 



22a 



ReZigious. — Anglicanism. 



accidents, that, of course, is another matter ; and the simple 
question is whether this or that particular Succession has such a 
promise, or, in other words, whether this or that Succession is or 
is not Apostolical. It is usual for Anglicans to say, as we say, 
that they have " the Apostolical Succession but that is begging 
the question ; if a Succession be Apostolical, then indeed it is 
protected from errors ; but it has to be proved Apostolical before 
such protection can be claimed for it ; that is, we and they, both 
of us, must give reasons in our own case respectively for this our 
critical assumption of our being Apostolical. We, Catholics, do 
produce our reasons, — that is, we produce what are commonly 
called the " Notes of the Church ; " — by virtue of those reasons, 
we consider that we belong to that Apostolical Church, in which 
were at the beginning stored the promises, and, therefore, our 
Succession has the Apostolical promise of protection, and is pre- 
served from accidents, or is Apostolic ; on the other hand, Angli- 
cans must give reasons on their part for maintaining that they too 
belong to the Apostolic Church, and that their Succession is 
Apostolic. There is, then, nothing unfair in Macaulay's argument, 
viewed in itself ; it is fair to both of us ; nor is it suicidal in the 
hands of a Catholic to use it against Anglicans, if, at the same 
time, he gives reasons why it cannot be used against himself. Let 
us look, then, at the objection, more closely. 

Lord Macaulay's remarks on the " Apostolic Succession " con- 
tained in one of his reviews, written with the force and brilliancy 
for which he is so well known, are far too extended to admit of 
insertion here ; but I will quote a few words of his argument 
from its beginning and ending. He begins by laying down, first, 
that whether an Anglican clergyman " be a priest by succession 
from the Apostles, depends on the question, whether, during that 
long period, some thousands of events took place, any one of 
which may, without any gross impropriety, be supposed not to 
have taken place ; " and next, " that there is not a tittle of evidence 
for any one of those events." Then, after various vivid illustra- 
tions of his argument, he ends by a reference to Chillingworth's 
" very remarkable words." as he calls them. " That of ten thou- 
sand requisites, whereof any one may fail, not one should be 
wanting, this to me is extremely improbable, and even cousin- 
german to impossible." 

I cannot deny, certainly, that Catholics, as well as the High An- 



Anglican Orders. 



221 



glican school, do believe in the Apostolic Succession of ministry, 
continued through eighteen hundred years ; nor that they both 
believe it to be necessary to an Apostolic ministry ; nor that they 
act upon their belief. But, as I have said, though so far the two 
parties agree, still they differ materially in their respective posi- 
tions relatively towards that Succession, and differ, in conse- 
quence, in their exposure respectively to the force of the objection 
on which I have been dwelling. The difference of position be- 
tween the two may be expressed in the following antithesis : — 
Catholics believe their Orders are valid, becanse they are members 
of the true Church ; and Anglicans believe they belong to the true 
Church, because their Orders are valid. And this is why Macau- 
lay's objection tells against Anglicans, and does not tell against 
Catholics. In other words, our Apostolic descent is to us a theo- 
logical inference, and not primarily a doctrine of faith ; theirs, 
necessarily is a first principle in controversy, and a patent mat- 
ter of fact, the credentials of their mission. That they can claim 
to have God's ministers among them, depends directly and solely 
upon the validity of their Orders ; and to prove their validity, they 
are bound to trace their Succession through a hundred interme- 
diate steps, till at length they reach the Apostles ; till they do 
this, their claim is in abeyance. If it is improbable that the Suc- 
cession has no flaws in it, they have to bear the brunt of the im- 
probability ; if it is presumable that a special Providence pre- 
cludes such flaws, or compensates for them, they cannot take the 
benefit of that presumption to themselves ; for to do so would be 
claiming to belong to the true Church, to which that high Provi- 
dence is promised, and this they cannot do without arguing in a 
circle, first proving that they are of the true Church because they 
have valid Orders, and then that their Orders are valid because 
they are of the true Church. 

Thus the Apostolical Succession is to Anglican divines a sine qua 
non, not "necessitate praecepti," sed "necessitate medii." Their 
Succession is indispensable to their position, as being the point 
from which they start, and therefore it must be unimpeachable, or 
else they do not belong to the Church: and to prove it is unim- 
peachable by introducing the special Providence of God over His 
Church, would be like proving the authority of Scripture by those 
miracles of which Scripture alone is the record. It must be un- 
impeachable before, and without taking that special Providence 



222 



Religious. — A nglicanism. 



into account, and this, I have said above, cannot be. We, on 
our side, on the contrary, are not in such a dilemma as this. Our 
starting-point is not the fact of a faithful transmission of Orders, 
but the standing fact of the Church, the Visible and One Church, 
the reproduction and succession of herself, age after age. It is 
the Church herself that vouches for our Orders, while she authen- 
ticates herself to be the Church not by our Orders, but by her 
Notes. It is the great Note of an ever-enduring ccetus fidelium> 
with a fixed organization, a unity of jurisdiction, a political great- 
ness, a continuity of existence in all places and times, a suitable- 
ness to all classes, ranks, and callings, an ever-energizing life, 
an untiring, ever-evolving history, which is her evidence that she 
is the creation of God, and the representative and home of Chris- 
tianity. She is not based upon her Orders ; she is not the subject 
of her instruments ; they are not necessary for her idea. We 
could even afford, for argument's sake, to concede to Lord 
Macaulay the uncertainty of our Succession. If Providence had 
so willed, she might have had her ministers without any lineal 
descent from the Apostles at all. Her mere nomination might 
have superseded any rite of ordination ; there might have been 
no indelible character in her ministers ; she might have commis- 
sioned them, used them, and recalled them at her pleasure. She 
might have been like a civil state, in which there is a continua- 
tion of office but not a propagation of official life. The occupant 
of the See of St. Peter, himself made such by mere election, 
might have made Bishops and unmade them. Her Divine Founder 
has chosen a better way, better because He has chosen it. Trans- 
mission of ministerial power ever has been, and ever shall be ; 
and He who has so ordained, will carry out His ordinance, pre- 
serve it from infraction, and make good any damage to it, because 
it is His ordinance ; but still that ordinance is not simply of the 
essence of the Church ; it is not more than an inseparable accident 
and a necessary instrument. Nor is the Apostolic descent of her 
priests the direct warrant of their power in the eyes of the faithful. 
Their warrant is her immediate, present, living authority ; it is 
the word of the Church which marks them out as the ministers of 
God, not any historical or antiquarian research, or genealogical 
table ; and while she is most cautious and jealous that they should 
be ordained aright, yet it is sufficient in proof of their ordination 
that they belong to her. 



Anglican Ordinances. 



223 



Thus it would appear that to Catholics the certainty of Apos- 
tolical Orders is not a point of prime necessity, yet they possess 
it ; and for Anglicans it is absolutely indispensable, yet they have 
it not. 

On such grounds as these it is, that I consider the line of 
argument which I have adopted against Anglican Orders, is 
neither open to the charge of scepticism, nor suicidal in the hands 
of a Catholic (" Essays, Crit. and Hist.," vol. 11. p. 76). 



ANGLICAN ORDINANCES. 
(1). 

You tell me, my [Anglican] brethren, that you have the clear 
evidence of the influences of grace in your hearts, by its effects 
sensible at the moment or permanent in the event. You tell me, 
that you have been converted from sin to holiness, or that you 
have received great support and comfort under trial, or that you 
have been carried over very special temptations, though you have 
not submitted yourselves to the Catholic Church. More than 
this, you tell me of the peace, and joy, and strength which you 
have experienced in your own ordinances. You tell me, that 
when you began to go weekly to communion, you found your- 
selves wonderfully advanced in puiity. You tell me that you 
went to confession, and you never will believe that the hand of 
God was not over you at the moment when you received absolu- 
tion. You were ordained, and a fragrance breathed around you ; 
you hung over the dead, and you all but saw the happy spirit of 
the departed. This is what you say, and the like of this ; and I 
am not the person, my dear brethren, to quarrel with the truth of 
what you say. I am not the person to be jealous of such facts, 
nor to wish you to contradict your own memory and your own 
nature; nor am I so ungrateful to God's former mercies to myself, 
to have the heart to deny them in you. As to miracles, indeed, 
if such you mean, that of course is a matter which might lead to 
dispute ; but if you merely mean to say that the supernatural 
grace of God, as shown either at the time or by consequent fruits, 
has overshadowed you at certain times, has been with vou 



224 



Religious. — Anglicanism. 



when you were taking part in the Anglican ordinances, I have n« 
wish, and a Catholic has no anxiety, to deny it. 

Why should I deny to your memory what is so pleasant in 
mine? Cannot I, too, look back on many years past, and many 
events, in which I myself experienced what is now your confi- 
dence ? Can I forget the happy life I have led all my days, with 
no cares, no anxieties worth remembering ; without desolateness, 
or fever of thought, or gloom of mind, or doubt of God's love to 
me, and providence over me? Can I forget,- — I never can forget, 
— the day when, in my youth, I first bound myself to the ministry 
of God in that old church of St. Frideswide, the patroness of Ox- 
ford? nor how I wept most abundant and most sweet tears, when 
I thought what I then had become ; though I looked on ordina- 
tion as no sacramental rite, nor even to baptism ascribed any su- 
pernatural virtue? Can I wipe out from my memory, or wish to 
wipe out, those happy Sunday mornings, light or dark, year after 
year, when I celebrated your communion-rite, in my own church 
of St. Mary's ; and in the pleasantness and joy of it heard no- 
thing of the strife of tongues which surrounded its walls? When, 
too, shall I not feel the soothing recollection of those dear years 
which I spent in retirement, in preparation for my deliverance from 
Egypt, asking for light, and by degrees gaining it, with less of 
temptation in my heart, and sin on my conscience, than ever be- 
fore ? O my dear brethren, my Anglican friends ! I easily give you 
credit for what I have experienced myself. Provided you be in 
good faith, if you are not trifling with your conscience, if you are 
resolved to follow whithersoever God shall lead, if the ray of 
conviction has not fallen on you, and you have shut your eyes to 
it ; then, anxious as I am about you for the future, and dread as I 
may till you are converted, that perhaps, when conviction comes, 
it will come in vain ; yet still, looking back at the past years of 
my own life, I recognize what you say, and bear witness to its 
truth. Yet what has this to do with the matter in hand? I admit 
your fact ; do you admit, in turn, my explanation of it. It is the 
explanation ready provided by the Catholic Church, provided in 
her general teaching, quite independently of your particular case, 
not made for the occasion, only applied when it has arisen ; listen 
to it, and see, whether you admit it or not as true, if it be not suf- 
ficiently probable, or possible if you will, to invalidate the argu« 
ment on which you so confidently rely. 



Anglican Ordinances. 



225 



(II.) 

Surf.lv you ought to know the Catholic teaching on the sub- 
ject of grace, in its bearing on your argument, without my insist- 
ing on it : Spiritus Domini replevii orhem terrarum. Grace is given 
for the merits of Christ all over the earth ; there is no corner, 
even of Paganism, where it is not present — present in each heart 
of man in real sufficiency for his ultimate salvation. Not that the 
grace presented to each is such as at once to bring him to 
heaven ; but it is sufficient for a beginning. It is sufficient to 
enable him to plead for other grace; and that second grace is 
such as to impetrate a third grace ; and thus the soul may be led 
from grace to grace, and from strength to strength, till at length 
it is, so to say, in very sight of heaven, if the gift of perseverance 
does but complete the work. Now here observe, it is not certain 
that a soul which has the first grace will have the second ; for the 
grant of the second at least depends on its use of the first. Again, 
it may have the first and second, and yet not the third ; from the 
first on to the nineteenth, and not the twentieth. We mount up 
by steps towards God, and, alas ! it is possible that a soul may 
be courageous and bear up for nineteen steps, and stop and faint 
at the twentieth. Nay, further than this, it is possible to con- 
ceive a soul going forward till it arrives at the very grace of con- 
trition — a contrition so loving, so sin-renouncing, as to bring it at 
once into a state of reconciliation, and clothe it in the vestment of 
justice ; and yet it may yield to the further trials which beset it, 
and fail away. 

Now all this may take place even outside the Church ; and 
consider what at once follows from it. This follows, in the first 
place, that men there may be, not Catholics, yet really obeying 
God and rewarded by him — nay, I might say (at least by way of 
argument), in His favor, with their sins forgiven, and in the enjoy- 
ment of a secret union with that heavenly kingdom to which they 
do not visibly belong — who are, through their subsequent failure, 
never to reach it. There may be those who are increasing in 
grace and knowledge, and approaching nearer to the Catholic 
Church every year, who are not in the Church, and never will be. 
The highest gifts and graces are compatible with ultimate repro- 
bation. As regards, then, the evidence of sanctity in members 
of the National Establishment, on which you insist, Catholics 



226 



Religious. — Anglicanism, 



are not called on to deny them. We think such instances are 
few, nor so eminent as you are accustomed to fancy ; but we do 
not wish to deny, nor have any difficulty in admitting, such facts 
as you have to adduce, whatever they be. We do not think it 
necessary to carp at every instance of supernatural excellence 
among Protestants when it comes before us, or to explain it away ; 
all we know is, that the grace given them is intended ultimately 
to bring them into the Church, and if it is not tending to do so, 
it will not ultimately profit them ; but we as little deny its pres- 
ence in their souls as they do themselves ; and as the fact is no 
perplexity to us, it is no triumph to them. 

And, secondly, in like manner, whatever be the comfort or 
the strength attendant upon the use of the national ordinances 
of religion, in the case of this or that person, a Catholic may ad- 
mit it without scruple, for it is no evidence to him in behalf of 
those ordinances themselves. It is the teaching of the Catholic 
Church from time immemorial, and independently of the 
present controversy, that grace is given in a sacred ordinance in 
two ways, viz., to use the scholastic distinction, ex opere operantis, 
and ex opere operato. Grace is given ex opere operato, when, the 
proper dispositions being supposed in the recipient, it is given 
through the ordinance itself; it is given ex opere operantis, when, 
whether there be outward sign or no, the inward energetic act of 
the recipient is the instrument of it. Thus, Protestants say that 
justification, for instance, is gained by faith as by an instrument — 
ex opere operantis ; thus Catholics also commonly believe that the 
benefit arising from the use of holy water accrues, not ex opere 
operato, or by means of the element itself, but ex opere operantis, 
through the devout mental act of the person using it, and the 
prayers of the Church. So again, the Sacrifice of the Mass 
benefits the person for whom it is offered ex opere operato, what- 
ever be the character of the celebrating Priest ; but it benefits 
him more or less, ex opere operantis, according to the degree of 
sanctity which the Priest has attained, and the earnestness with 
which he offers it. Again, baptism, whether administered by 
man or woman, saint or sinner, heretic or Catholic, regenerates 
an infants opere operato; on the other hand, in the case of the 
baptism of blood, as it was anciently called (that is, the martyr- 
dom of unbaptized persons desiring the Sacrament, but unable to 
obtain it), a discussion has arisen, whether the martyr was justi- 



Anglican Ordinances. 



227 



fied exopere operato or ex op ere operantis — that is, whether by the 
physical act of his dying for the faith, considered in itself, or by 
the mental act of supreme devotion to God, which caused and at- 
tended it. So again, contrition of a certain kind is sufficient as a 
disposition or condition, or what is called matter, for receiving 
absolution in Penance ex opere operato, or by virtue of the Sacra- 
ment ; but it may be heightened and purified into so intense an 
act of divine love, of hatred and sorrow for sin, and of renunci- 
ation of it, as to cleanse and justify the soul, without the sacra- 
ment at all, or ex opere operantis. It is plain from this distinction, 
that, if we would determine whether the Anglican ordinances are 
attended by divine grace, we must first determine wnether the 
effects which accompany them arise ex opere operantis or ex opere 
operate — whether out of the religious acts, the prayers, aspirations, 
resolves of the recipient, or by the direct power of the cere- 
monial act itself — a nice and difficult question, not to be decided 
by means of those effects themselves, whatever they be, 

Let me grant to you, then, that the reception of your ordinances 
brings peace and joy to the soul ; that it permanently influences 
or changes the character of the recipient. Let me grant, on the 
other hand, that their profanation, when men have been taught to 
believe in them, and in profaning are guilty of contempt of that 
God to whom they ascribe them, is attended by judgments; this 
properly shows nothing more than that, by a general law, lying, 
deceit, presumption, or hypocrisy are punished, and prayer, faith, 
contrition rewarded. There is nothing to show that the effects 
would not have been precisely the same on condition of the same 
inward dispositions, though another ordinance — a love-feast or a 
washing of the feet, with no pretence to the name of a Sacrament 
— had been in good faith adopted. And it is obvious to any one 
that, for a member of the Establishment to bring himself to con- 
fession, especially some years back, required dispositions of a 
very special character, a special contrition, and a special desire of 
the Sacrament, which, as far as we may judge by outward signs, 
were a special effect of grace, and would fittingly receive from 
God's bounty a special reward, some further and higher grace, 
and even, at least I am not bound to deny it, remission of sins. 
And again, when a member of the Establishment, surrounded by 
those who scoffed at the doctrine, accepted God's word that He 
would make Bread His Body, and honored Him by the fact that he 



228 



Religious. — Anglicanism. 



accepted it, is it wonderful., is it not suitable to God's mercy, if 
He rewards such a special faith with a quasi sacramental grace, 
though the worshipper unintentionally offered to a material sub- 
stance that adoration which he intended to pay to the present 
but invisible, Lamb of God? 

(in.) 

But this is not all, my dear brethren ; I must allow to others 
what I allow to you. If I let you plead the sensible effects of su- 
pernatural grace, as exemplified in yourselves, in proof that your 
religion is true, I must allow the plea to others to whom by your 
theory you are bound to deny it. Are you willing to place your- 
selves on the same footing with Wesleyans? Yet what is the 
difference? or rather, have they not more remarkable phenomena 
in their history, symptomatic of the presence of grace among 
them, than you can show in yours? Which, then, is the right ex- 
planation of your feelings and your experience — mine, which I 
have extracted from received Catholic teaching ; or ) T ours, which 
is an expedient for the occasion, and cannot be made to tell for 
your own Apostolical authority without telling for those who are 
rebels against it? Survey the rise of Methodism, and say can- 
didly, whether those who made light of your ordinances, aban- 
doned them, or at least disbelieved their virtue, have not had 
among them evidences of that very same grace which you claim 
for yourselves, and which you consider a proof of your acceptance 
with God. Really I am obliged in candor to allow, whatever part 
the evil spirit had in the work, whatever gross admixture of earth 
polluted it, whatever extravagance there was to excite ridicule or 
disgust, whether it was Christian virtue or the excellence of un- 
aided man, whatever was the spiritual state of the subjects of it, 
whatever their end and their final account, yet there were higher 
and nobler vestiges or semblances of grace and truth in Method- 
ism than there have been among you. I give you credit for what 
you are — grave, serious, earnest, modest, steady, self-denying, 
consistent; you have the praise of such virtues ; and you have a 
clear perception of many of the truths, or of portions of the truths, 
of Revelation. In these points you surpass the Wesleyans ; buf 
if I wished to find what was striking, extraordinary, suggestive of 
Catholic heroism — of St. Martin, St. Francis, or St. Ign^ius — I 



Anglican Ordinances. 



229 



should betake myself far sooner to them than to you. . . The 
Established Church may have preserved in the country the idea 
of sacramental grace, and the [High Church] movement . . may 
have spread it ; but if you wish to find the shadow and the sug- 
gestion of the supernatural qualities which made up the notion of 
a Catholic Saint, to Wesley you must go, and such as him. Per- 
sonally I do not like him, if it were merely for his deep self-reli- 
ance and self-conceit ; still lam bound, in justice to him, to ask, 
and you, in consistency, to answer, what historical personage in 
the Establishment, during its whole three centuries, has approxi- 
mated in force and splendor of conduct and achievements to one 
who began by innovating on your rules, and ended by contemning 
your authorities ? He and his companions, starting amid ridiculf 
at Oxford, with fasting and praying in the cold night air, then 
going about preaching, reviled by the rich and educated, anc 
pelted and dragged to prison by the populace, and converting 
their thousands from sin to God's service — were it not for their 
pride and eccentricity, their fanatical doctrine and untranquil de- 
votion, they would startle us, as if the times of St. Vincent Ferrer 
or St. Francis Xavier were come again in a Protestant land. 

Or, to turn to other communions, whom have you with you with 
those capabilities of greatness in them, which show themselves in 
the benevolent zeal of Howard the philanthropist, or Elizabeth 
Fry? Or consider the almost miraculous conversion and subse- 
quent life of Col. Gardiner. Why, even old Bunyan, with his 
vivid dreams when a child, his conversion, his conflicts with 
Satan, his preachings and imprisonments, however inferior to you 
in discipline of mind and knowledge of the truth, is, in the out- 
line of his history, more Apostolical than you. 11 Weep not for 
me/' were his last words, as if he had been a Saint, 11 but for your- 
selves. I go to the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who doubt- 
less, through the mediation of His Son, will receive me, though a 
sinner, when we shall ere long meet, to sing the new song and be 
happy for ever !" Consider the death-beds of the thousands of 
those, in and out of the Establishment, who, with scarcely one 
ecclesiastical sentiment in common with you, die in confidence of 
the truth of their doctrine, and of their personal safety. Does the 
peace of their deaths testify to the divinity of their creed or of 
their communion? Does the extreme earnestness and reality of 
religious feeling, exhibited in the sudden seizure and death of 



230 



Religious. — Anglicanism. 



one who was as stern in his hatred of your opinions as admirable 
in his earnestness, who one evening protested against the Sa- 
cramental principle, and next morning died nobly with the 
words of Holy Scripture in his mouth — does it give any sanction 
to that hatred and that protest?* And there is another, a Cal 
vinist, one of whose special and continual prayers in his last 
illness was for perseverance in grace, who cried, " O Lord, abhoi 
me not, though I be abhorrible, and abhor myself!" and who, five 
minutes before his death, by the expression of his countenance, 
changing from prayer to admiration and calm peace, impressed 
upon the bystanders that the veil had been removed from his 
eyes, and that, like Stephen, he saw things invisible to sense — did 
he, by the circumstances of his death-bed, bear evidence to the 
truth of what you, as well as I, hold to be an odious heresy ? f 
" Mr. Harvey resigned his meek soul into the hands of his 
Redeemer, saying, * Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in 
peace.'" " Mr. Walker, before he expired, spoke nearly these 
words : * I have been on the wings of the cherubim ; heaven has 
in a manner been opened to me ; I shall be there soon/" M Mr. 
Whitfield rose at four o'clock on the Sabbath-day, went to his 
closet, and was unusually long in private; laid himself on his 
bed for about ten minutes, then went on his knees and prayed 
most fervently he might that day finish his Master's work." Then 
he sent for a clergyman, " and before he could reach him, closed 
his eyes on this world without a sigh or groan, and commenced a 
Sabbath of everlasting rest." % Alas ! there was another, who for 
three months " lingered," as he said, '* in the face of death." u O 
my God," he cried, " I know Thou dost not overlook any of Thy 
creatures. Thou dost not overlook me. So much torture . . . 
to kill a worm ! Have mercy on me ! I cry to Thee, knowing I 
cannot alter Thy ways. I cannot if I would, and I would not i/ 
I could. If a word would remove these sufferings, I would not 
utter it." "Just life enough to suffer," he continued ; "but I 
submit, and not only submit, but rejoice." One morning he woke 
up, " and with firm voice and great sobriety of manner, spoke only 
these words : ' Now I die !' He sat as one in the attitude of ex- 
pectation, and, about two hours afterwards, it was as he had said." 



* Dr. Arnold. 



t Mr. Scott, of Ashton Sandford. 
% Sidney's Life of Hill. . ... 



Anglican Ordinances. 



231 



And he was a professed infidel, and worse than an infidel — an 
apostate priest ! 

(IV.) 

No, my dear brethren, these things are beyond us. Nature can 
do so much, and go so far ; can form such rational notions of God 
and of duty, without grace or merit, or a future hope ; good sense 
has such an instinctive apprehension of what ^s fitting ; intellect, 
imagination, and feeling, can so take up, develop, and illuminate 
what nature has originated ; education and intercourse with others 
can so insinuate into the mind what really does not belong to it ; 
grace, not effectual, but inchoate, can so plead, and its pleadings 
look so like its fruits ; and its mere visitations may so easily be 
mistaken for its indwelling presence, and its vestiges, when it has 
departed, may gleam so beautifully on the dead soul, that it is 
quite impossible for us to conclude, with any fairness of argument, 
that a certain opinion is true, or a religious position safe, simply 
on account of the confidence or apparent excellence cf those who 
adopt it. Of course we think as tenderly of them as we can, and may 
fairly hope that what we see is, in particular instances, the work 
of grace, wrought in those who are not responsible for their igno- 
rance ;* but the claim in their behalf is unreasonable and exor- 
bitant if it is to the effect that their state of mind is to be taken in 
evidence, not only of promise in the individual, but of truth in 
his creed. 

And should this view of the subject unsettle and depress you, 
as if it left you no means at all of ascertaining whether God loves 
you, or whether anything is true, or anything to be trusted, then 
let this feeling answer the purpose for which I have impressed it 
on you. I wish to deprive you of your undue confidence in self; 
I wish to dislodge you from that centre in which you sit so self- 
possessed and self satisfied. Your fault has been to be satisfied 
with but a half-evidence of your safety ; you have been too well 
contented with remaining where you found yourselves, not to 
catch at a line of argument so indulgent yet so plausible. You 
have thought that position impregnable, and growing confident, 
as time went on, you have not only said it was a sin to ascribe 

* [See " Invincible Tgorance and Anglicanism," p. 313.] 



Religious. — A nglicanism. 



your good thoughts, and purposes, and aspirations, to any but 
God (which you were right in saying), but you have presumed to 
pronounce it blasphemy against the Holy Ghost to doubt that 
they came into your hearts by means of your Church and by 
virtue of its ordinances. Learn, my dear brethren, a more sober, 
a more cautious tone of thought. Learn to fear for your souls 
It is something, indeed, to be peaceful within, but it is not every- 
thing. It may be the stillness of death, The Catholic, and he 
alone, has within him that union of external with internal notes of 
God's favor, which sheds the light of conviction over his soul, and 
makes him both fearless in his faith, and calm and thankful in 
his hope. ("Anglican Difficulties," p. 70.) 



THE HIGH CHURCH PARTY. 

Confident, indeed, and with reason, of the truth of its great 
principles, having a perception and certainty of its main tenets, 
which is like the evidence of sense compared with the feeble, 
flitting, and unreal views of doctrine held by the Evangelical 
body, still, as to their application, their adaptation, their com- 
bination, their development, [the High Church party] has been 
miserably conscious that it has had nothing to guide it but its 
own private and unaided judgment. Dreading its own inter- 
pretation of Scripture and the Fathers, feeling its need of an in- 
fallible guide, yet having none ; looking up to its own Mother, as 
it called her, and finding her silent, ambiguous, unsympathetic, 
sullen, and even hostile to it ; with ritual mutilated, sacraments 
defective, precedents inconsistent, articles equivocal, canons 
obsolete, courts Protestant, and synods suspended ; scouted by 
the laity, scorned by men of the world, hated and blackened by 
its opponents ; and moreover at variance with itself, hardly two 
of its members taking up the same position — nay, all of them, 0111; 
by one, shifting their own ground as time went on, and obliged to 
confess that they were in progress ; is it wonderful . . that these 
men have exhibited f< a conduct and a rule of a religious life," 
"full of shifts, and compromises, and evasions, a rule of life, 
based upon the acceptance of half one doctrine, all the ne^.t, and 



The High Church Party. 



233 



none of the third, upon the belief entirely of another, but not dar- 
ing to say so"? After all, they have not been nearly so guilty 
w of shifts, and compromises, and evasions," as the national 
formularies themselves ; but they have had none to support them, 
or, if I may use a familiar word, to act the bully for them, under 
the imputation. There was no one, with confident air and loud 
voice, to retort upon their opponents the charges urged against 
them, and no public to applaud though there had been. Whether 
they looked above or below, behind or before, they found nothing, 
indeed, to shake or blunt their faith in Christ, in His establish- 
ment of a Church, in its visibility, continuance, catholicity, and 
gifts, and in the necessity of belonging to it : they despised the 
luollowness of their opponents, the inconsequence of their argu- 
ments, the shallowness of their views, their disrelish of principle, 
and their carelessness about truth ; but their heart sunk within 
them, under the impossibility, on the one hand, of their carrying 
out their faith into practice, there, where they found themselves, 
and of realizing their ideas in fact, — and the duty, on the other, 
as they were taught it, of making the best of the circumstances in 
which they were placed. Such were they; I trust they are so still : 
I will not allow myself to fancy that secret doubts on the one 
hand, that self-will, disregard of authority, an unmanly, dis- 
ingenuous bearing, and the spirit of party on the other, have de- 
formed a body of persons whom once I loved, revered, and sym- 
pathized in. I speak of those many persons whom I admired ; 
who, like the hero in the epic, did not want courage, but en- 
couragement; who looked out in vain for the approbation of 
authority ; who felt their own power, but shrank from the omen 
of evil, the hateful raven, which flapped its wings over them ; who 
seemed to say with the poet — 

— - — Non me tua fervida terrent 

Dicta, ferox ; Dii me terrent, et Jupiter hottis. 

But their very desire of realities, and their fear of deceiving 
themselves with dreams, was their insurmountable difficulty here. 
They could not make the Establishment what it was not. (" An 
glican Difficulties," p. 14). 



234 



Religious. — Anglican ism . 



THE CHRISTIAN YEAR. 

Much certainly came of the Christian Year : it was the most 
soothing, tranquillizing, subduing work of the da)* ; if poems can 
be found to enliven in dejection, and to comfort in anxiety, to 
cool the over-sanguine, to refresh the weary, and to awe the 
worldly; to instil resignation into the impatient, and calmness 
into the fearful and agitated — they are these. 

Tale tuum carmen nobis, divine poeta, 

Quale sopor fessis ia gTamine ; quale per aestum 

Dulcis aquae saliente sitim resringnere rivo. 

Or like the Shepherd's pipe, in the Oriental Vision, of which we 
are told, that u the sound was exceedingly sweet, and wrought 
into a variety of tunes that were inexpressibly melodious, and alto- 
gether different from anything I had ever heard. They put me in 
mind of those heavenly airs which are played to the departing 
souls of good men upon their first arrival in Paradise, to wear 
out the impressions of the last agonies, and to qualify them for 
the pleasures of that happy place. I drew near with the reve- 
rence which is due to a superior nature ; and as my heart was en- 
tirely subdued by the captivating strains I had heard, I fell down 
ai his feet and wept." 

Such was the gift of the author of the Christian Year, and he 
used it in attaching the minds of the rising generation to the 
Church of his predecessors Ken and Herbert. He did that for 
the Church of England which none but a poet could do ; he made 
it poetical. It is sometimes asked whether poets are not more 
commonly found external to the Church than among her children ; 
and it would not surprise us to find the question answered in the 
affirmative. Poetry is the refuge of those who have not the Catho- 
lic Church to flee to, and repose upon ; for the Church herself is 
the most sacred and august of poets. Poetry,* as Mr. Keble lays 
it down in his University Lectures on the subject, is a method of 
relieving the over-burdened mind. It is a channel through which 
emotion finds expression, and that a safe, regulated expression. 
Now, what is the Catholic Church viewed in her human aspect, 

* [iEstuantibus earn affectibus parcere et indulgere paulisper mtelligimus. atque 
id saltern nobis solatii contigisse, quod negatum olim Didoni nocuit. 4 " Praelec- 
tiones Academicas," vol. i. p. n.] 



The Christian Year. 



235 



but a discipline of the affections and passions? What are her 
ordinances and practices, but the regulated expression of keen, 
or deep, or turbid feeling, and thus a " cleansing/' as Aristotle 
would word it, of the sick soul ? She is the poet of her children ; 
full of music to soothe the sad and control the way-ward — wonder- 
ful in story for the imagination of the romantic ; rich in symbol 
and imagery, so that gentle and delicate feelings, which will not 
bear words, may in silence intimate their presence or commune 
with themselves. Her very being is poetry ; every psalm, every 
petition, every collect, every versicle, the cross, the mitre, the 
thurible, is a fulfilment of some dream of childhood, or aspiration 
of youth. Such poets as are born under her shadow, she takes 
into her service ; she sets them to write hymns, or to compose 
chants, to embellish shrines, or to determine ceremonies, or to 
marshal processions ; nay, she can even make schoolmen of them, 
as she made of St. Thomas, till logic becomes poetical. Now the 
author of the Christian Year found the Anglican system all but 
destitute of this divine element, which is an essential property of 
Catholicism ; a ritual dashed upon the ground, trodden on and 
broken piecemeal ; prayers, clipped, pieced, torn, shuffled about 
at pleasure, until the meaning of the composition perished, and 
offices which had been poetry were no longer even good prose ; 
antiphons, hymns, benedictions, invocations, shovelled away; 
Scripture lessons turned into chapters ; heaviness, feebleness, un- 
wieldiness, where the Catholic rites had had the lightness and 
airiness of a spirit ; vestments chucked off, lights quenched, 
jewels stolen, the pomp and circumstances of worship annihilated, 
a dreariness which could be felt, and which seemed the token of 
an incipient Socinianism, forcing itself upon the eye, the ear, the 
nostrils, of the worshipper, a smell of dust and damp, not of in- 
cense ; a sound of ministers preaching Catholic prayers, and 
parish clerks droning out Catholic canticles ; the royal arms for 
the crucifix ; ugly huge boxes of wood, sacred to preachers, 
frowning upon the congregation in the place of the mysterious al- 
tar ; and the long cathedral aisles unused, railed off, like the 
tombs (as they were) of what had been and was not ; and for 
orthodoxy, a frigid, inelastic, inconsistent, dull, helpless dog- 
matic, which could give no just account of itself, yet was intole- 
rant of all teaching which contained a doctrine more, or a doctrine 
less, and resented every attempt to give it a meaning ; — such was 



23 6 



Religious. — Anglicanism. 



the religion of which this gifted author was, not the judge and 
denouncer (a deep spirit of reverence hindered it), but the renova- 
tor, so far as it has been renovated. Clear as was his perception 
of the degeneracy of his times, he attributed nothing of it to his 
Church, over which he threw the poetry of his own mind, and the 
memory of better days. 

His happy magic made the Anglican Church seem what Catho- 
licism was and is. The established system found to its surprise, 
that it had been all its life talking, not prose, but poetry, 

u Miraturque novas frondes, et non sua poma. 

Beneficed clergymen used to go to rest as usual on Christmas- 
eve, and leave to ringers, or sometimes to carollers, the observ- 
ance which was paid, not without creature comforts, to the sacred 
night; but now, they suddenly found themselves, to their great 
surprise, to be "wakeful shepherds," and " still as the day came 
round," " in music and in light," the new-born Saviour " dawned 
upon their prayer." Anglican bishops had not only lost the habit 
of blessing, but had sometimes been startled and vexed when 
asked to do so ; but now they were told of their " gracious arm 
stretched out to bless ;" moreover, what they had never dreamed 
when they were gazetted or did homage, they were taught that 
each of them was " an Apostle true, a crowned and robed seer." 
The parish church had been shut up, except for vestry meetings 
and occasional services, all days of the year but Sundays, and one 
or two other sacred days ; but church-goers were now assured 
that " Martyrs and Saints" dawned on their way, that the absolu- 
tion in the Common Prayer Book was "the Golden Key each 
morn and eve ;" and informed, moreover, at a time too when the 
Real Presence was all but utterly forgotten or denied, of " the 
dear feast of Jesus dying, upon that altar ever lying, while Angels 
prostrate fall." They learned, besides, that what their pastors had 
spoken of, and churchwardens had used at vestry meetings, as a 
mere table, was " the dread altar;" and that " holy lamps were 
blazing; perfumed embers quivering bright," while " stoled 
priests minister at them," while the "floor was by knees of sin- 
ners worn." 

Such doctrine coming from one who had such claims on his 
readers frdm the weight of his name, the depth of his devotional 



The Tractarian Movement. 



and ethical tone, and the special gift of consolation, of which his 
poems themselves were the evidence, wrought a great work in the 
Establishment. The Catholic Church speaks for itself, the Angli- 
can needs external assistance ; his poems became a sort of com- 
ment upon its formularies and ordinances, and almost elevated 
them into the dignity of a religious system. It kindled hearts to- 
wards his Church, it gave a something for the gentle and forlorn 
to cling to ; and it raised up advocates for it among those, who 
otherwise, if God and their good Angel had suffered it, might 
have wandered away into some sort of philosophy, and acknow- 
ledged no Church at all. Such was the influence of his Christian 
Year. (" Essays, Crit. and Hist.," vol. ii. p. 441.) 



THE TRACTARIAN MOVEMENT. 

[The Tractarian] movement started on the ground of maintain- 
ing ecclesiastical authority, as opposed to the Erastianism of the 
State. It exhibited the Church as the one earthly object of re- 
ligious loyalty and veneration, the source of all spiritual power 
and jurisdiction, and the channel of all grace. It represented it to 
be the interest, as well as the duty, of Churchmen, the bond of 
peace and the secret of strength, to submit their judgment in all 
things to her decision. And it taught that this divinely founded 
Church was realized and brought into effect in our country in the 
National Establishment, which was the outward form or develop- 
ment of a continuous dynasty and hereditary power which de- 
scended from the Apostles. It gave, then, to that Establishment, 
in its officers, its laws, its usages, and its worship, that devotion 
and obedience which are correlative to the very idea of the Church. 
It set up on high the bench of Bishops and the Book r»f Common 
Prayer, as the authority to which it was itself to bow, with which 
it was to cow and overpower an Erastian State. . . 

Such . . was the clear unvarying line of thought, as I believe it 
to be, on which the movement commenced and proceeded, as re* 
gards the questions of Church authority and private judgment. 
It was fancied that no opportunity for the exercise of private 
judgment could arise in any public or important matter. The 



Religious. — Anglicanism. 



Church declared, whether by Prayer-Book or Episcopal authority, 
what was to be said or done, and private judgment either had no 
objection which it could make good, or only in those minor mat- 
ters where there was a propriety in yielding to authority. And 
the present Church declared what her divines had declared ; and 
her divines declared what the Fathers had declared ; and what 
the Fathers had declared was no matter of private at all, but a 
matter of fact, cognizable by all who chose to read their writings. 
Their testimony was as decisive and clear as Pope's Bull or 
Definition of Council, or catechisings or direction of any in- 
dividual parish priest. There was no room for two opinions on 
the subject ; and, as Catholics consider that the truth is brought 
home to the soul supernaturally, so that the soul sees it and no 
longer depends on reason, so in some paralled way, it was sup- 
posed, in the theology of the movement, that that same truth, as 
contained in the Fathers, was a natural fact, recognized by the 
natural and ordinary intelligence of mankind, as soon as that in- 
telligence was directed towards it. 

The idea, then, of the divines of the [Tractarian] movement was 
simply and absolutely submission to an external authority; to 
such an authority they appealed, to it they betook themselves ; 
there they found a haven of rest ; thence they looked out upon 
the troubled surge of human opinion and upon the crazy ves- 
sels which were laboring, without chart or compass, upon it. 
Judge then of their dismay, when, according to the Arabian 
tale, on their striking their anchors into the supposed soil, lighting 
their fires on it, and fixing in it the poles of their tents, suddenly 
their island began to move, to heave, to splash, to frisk to and 
fro to dive, and at last to swim away, spouting out inhospitable 
jets of water upon the credulous mariners who had made it their 
home. And such, I suppose, was the undeniable fact : I mean, 
the time at length came, when first of all turning their minds 
(some of them, at least) more carefully to the doctrinal controver- 
sies of the early Church, they saw distinctly that in the reasonings 
of the Fathers, elicited by means of them, and in the decisions of 
authority, in which they issued, were contained at least the rudi« 
merits, the anticipation, the justification of what they had been 
accustomed to consider the corruptions of Rome. And if only 
one, or a few of them, were visited with this conviction, still even 
one was suiricient, of course, to destroy that cardinal-point ,of their 



The Tractarian Movement. 



239 



whole system, the objective perspicuity and distinctness of the 
teaching of the Fathers. But time went on, and there was no 
mistaking or denying the misfortune which was impending over 
them. They had reared a goodly house, but their foundations 
were falling in. The soil and the masonry both were 
bad. The Fathers would protect 14 Romanists" as well as 
extinguish Dissenters. The Anglican divines would misquote 
the Fathers, and shrink from the very doctors to whom they 
appealed. The Bishops of the seventeenth century were shy of 
the Bishops of the fourth ; and the Bishops of the nineteenth were 
shy of the Bishops of the seventeenth. The ecclesiastical courts 
upheld the sixteenth century against the seventeenth, and, regard- 
less of the flagrant irregularities of Protestant clergymen, chas- 
tised the mild misdemeanors of Anglo-Catholic. Soon the living 
rulers of the Establishment began to move. There are those who, 
reversing the Roman's maxim,* are wont to shrink from the contu- 
macious, and to be valiant towards the submissive ; and the au- 
thorities in question gladly availed themselves of the power con- 
ferred on them by the movement against the movement itself. 
They fearlessly handselled their Apostolic weapons upon the Apos- 
tolical party. One after another, in long succession, they took up 
their song and their parable against it. It was a solemn war-dance, 
which they executed round victims, who by their very principles 
were bound hand and foot, and could only eye, with disgust and 
perplexity, this most unaccountable movement, on the part of 
their " holy Fathers, the representatives of the Apostles, and the 
Angels of the Churches." It was the beginning of the end. When 
it was at length plain that primitive Christianity ignored the Na- 
tional Church, and that the National Church cared little for pri- 
mitive Christianity, or for those who appealed to it as her founda- 
tion ; when Bishops spoke against them, and Bishops* courts sen- 
tenced them, and Universities degraded them, and the people 
rose against them, — from that day their "occupation was gone." 
Their initial principle, their basis, external authority, was cut 
from under them ; they had " set their fortunes on a cast ; " they 

* "Parcere subjectis, et debellare superbos." It may be right here to say, that 
the author never can forget the great kindness which Dr. Bagot, at that time 
Bishop of Oxford, showed him on several occasions. He also has to notice the 
courtesy of Dr. Thirwall's language a prelate whom he has never had the honor of 
knowing. 



240 



Religions. — A nglieanism. 



had lost ; henceforward they had nothing left for them but to shut 
up their school, and retire into the country. Nothing else was 
left for them, unless, indeed, they took up some other theory, un- 
less they changed their ground, unless they ceased to be what they 
were, and became what they were not ; unless they belied their 
own principles, and strangely forgot their own luminous and 
most keen convictions ; unless they vindicated the right of 
private judgment, took up some fancy-religion, retailed the Fath- 
ers, and jobbed theology. They had but a choice between doing 
nothing at all, and looking out for truth and peace elsewhere. 
("Anglican Difficulties," pp. 114 and 131.) 



ANGLO-CATHOLIC OR PATRISTICO-PROTESTANT ? 

I CAN understand, I can sympathize with, those old-world 
thinkers, whose commentators are Mant and D'Oyly, whose theo- 
logian is Tomlin, whose ritualist is Wheatly, and whose canonist 
is Burns ; who are proud of their Jewells and their Chillingworths, 
whose works they have never opened, and toast Cranmer and 
Ridley, and William of Orange, as the founders of their religion. 
In these times, three hundred years is a respectable antiquity; 
and traditions, recognized in law-courts, and built into the struc- 
ture of society, may well, without violence, be imagined to be 
immemorial. Those also I can understand who take their stand 
upon the Prayer Book ; or those who honestly profess to follow 
the consensus of Anglican divines as the voice of authority and 
the standard of faith. Moreover. I can quite enter into the senti- 
ment with which members of the liberal and infidel school inves- 
tigate the history and the documents of the early Church. They 
profess a view of Christianity truer than the world has ever had ; 
nor. on the assumption of 'their principles, is there anything shock- 
ing to good sense in this profession. They look upon the Chris- 
tian Religion as something simply human ; and there is no rea- 
son at all why a phenomenon of that kind should not be better 
understood, in its origin and nature, as years proceed. It is, in- 
deed, an intolerable paradox to assert, that a revelation, given 
from God to man. should lie unknown or mistaken for eighteen 



Anglo- Catholic or Fatristico- Protestant 7 241 



centuries, and now at length should be suddenly deciphered by 
individuals ; but it is quite intelligible to assert, and plausible to 
argue, that a human fact should be more philosophically explained 
than it was eighteen hundred years ago, and more exactly, ascer- 
tained than it was a thousand. History is at this day undergoing 
a process of revolution; the science of criticism, the disinter- 
ment of antiquities, the unrolling of manuscripts, the interpreta- 
tion of inscriptions, have thrown us into a new world of thought ; 
characters and events come forth transformed in the process; 
romance, prejudice, local tradition, party bias, are no longer ac- 
cepted as guarantees of truth ; the order and mutual relation of 
events are readjusted ; the springs and the scope of action are re- 
versed. Were Christianity a mere work of man, it, too, might 
turn out something different from what it has hitherto been con- 
sidered ; its history might require re-writing, as the history of 
Rome, or of the earth's strata, or of languages, or of chemical 
action. A Catholic neither deprecates nor fears such enquiry, 
though he abhors the spirit in which it is too often conducted. 
He is willing that infidelity should do its work against the 
Church, knowing that she will be found just where she was, when 
the assault is over. It is nothing to him, though her enemies 
put themselves to the trouble of denying everything that has hith- 
erto been taught, and begin with constructing her history all over 
again, for he is quite sure that they will end at length with a 
compulsory admission of what at first they so wantonly discarded. 
Free thinkers and broad thinkers, Laudians and Prayer Book 
Christians, high-and-dry and Establishment-men, all these he 
would understand ; but what he would feel so prodigious is this, 
— that such as you, my [Anglican] brethren, should consider 
Christianity given from heaven once for all, should protest against 
private judgment, should profess to transmit what you have re- 
ceived, and yet, from diligent study of the Fathers, from your 
thorough knowledge of St. Basil and St. Chrysostom, from living, 
as you say, in the atmosphere of antiquity, that you should come 
forth into open day with your new edition of the Catholic faith, 
different from that held in any existing body of Christians any- 
where, which not half-a-dozen men all over the world would honoi 
with their imprimatur ; and then, withal, should be as positive* 
about its truth in every part, as if the voice of mankind were with 
you instead of being against you. 



242 



Religious. — Anglicanism. 



You are a body of yesterday ; you are a drop in the ocean of 
professing Christians ; yet you would give the law to priest and 
prophet ; and you fancy it an humble office, forsooth, suited to 
humble men, to testify the very truth of Revelation to a fallen 
generation, or rather to almost a long bi-millenary, which has 
been in unalleviated traditionary error. You have a mission to 
teach the National Church, which is to teach the British Empire, 
which is to teach the world. You are more learned than Greece ; 
you are purer than Rome ; you know more than St. Bernard ; 
you judge how far St. Thomas was right, and where he is to be 
read with caution, or held up to blame ; you can bring to light 
juster views of grace, or of penance, or of invocation of saints, 
than St. Gregory or St. Augustine. . . You do not follow the 
bishops of the National Church ; you disown its existing tradi- 
tions ; you are discontented with its divines ; you protest 
against its law-courts ; you shrink from its laity ; you outstrip its 
Prayer Book. You have in all respects an eclectic or an original 
religion of your own. You dare not stand or fall by Andrewes, or 
by Laud, or by Hammond, or by Bull, or by Thorndike, or by all 
of them together. There is a consensus of divines, stronger than 
there is for Baptismal Regeneration or the Apostolical Succes- 
sion, that Rome is, strictly and literally, an anti-Christian power; 
— Liberals and High Churchmen in your Communion in this 
agree with Evangelicals ; you put it aside. There is a consensus 
against Transubstantiation, besides the declaration of the Article, 
yet many of you hold it notwithstanding. Nearly all your divines, 
if not all, call themselves Protestants, and you anathematize the 
name. Who makes the concessions to Catholics which you do, yet 
remains separate from them? Who, among Anglican authorities, 
would speak of Penance as a Sacrament, as you do ? Who of 
them encourages, much less insists upon, auricular confession, as 
you ? Or makes fasting an obligation ? Or uses the crucifix and 
the rosary? Or reserves the consecrated bread ? Or believes in 
miracles as existing in your Communion? Or administers, as I 
believe you do, Extreme Unction ? In some points you prefer 
Rome, in others Greece, in others England, in others Scotland ; 
and of that preference your own private judgment is the ultimate 
sanction. 

What am I to say in answer to conduct so preposterous ? Say 
you go by any authority whatever, and I shall know where to find 



Anglo- Catholic ot Pairislico- Protestant 7 243 



you, and I shall respect you. Swear by any school of Religion, old 
or modern, by Ronge's Church, or the Evangelical Alliance, nay, 
by yourselves, and I shall know what you mean, and will listen 
to you. But do not come to me with the latest fashion of opinion 
which the world has seen, and protest to me that it is the oldest. 
Do not come to me at this time of day with views palpably new, 
isolated, original, sui generis , warranted old neither by Christian 
nor unbeliever, and challenge me to answer what I really have 
not the patience to read. Life is not long enough for such trifles. 
Go elsewhere, not to me, if you wish to make a proselyte. Your 
inconsistency, my dear brethren, is on your very front. Nor pre- 
tend that you are but executing the sacred duty of defending your 
own Communion ; your Church does not thank you for a defence 
which she has no dream of appropriating. You innovate on her 
professions of doctrine, and then you bid us love her for your in- 
novations. You cling to her for what she denounces; and you 
almost anathematize us [converts to Catholicism] for taking a 
step which you would please her best by taking also. You call 
it restless, impatient, undutiful in us, to do what she would have 
us do ; and you think it a loving and confiding course in her 
children to believe, not her, but you. She is to teach, and we are 
to hear, onjy according to your own private researches into St. 
Chrysostom and St. Augustine. " I began myself with doubting 
and enquiring," you seem to say ; " I departed from the teaching 
I received ; I was educated in some older type of Anglicanism ; 
in the school of Newton, Cecil, and Scott, or in the Bartlett/s- 
Building school, or in the Liberal Whig school. I was a Dissen- 
ter, or a Wesleyan, and by study and thought I became an Anglo- 
Catholic. And then I read the Fathers, and I have determined 
what works are genuine, and what are not ; which of them apply 
to all times, which are occasional ; which historical, and which 
doctrinal ; what opinions are private, what authoritative ; what they 
only seem to hold, what they ought to hold ; what are fundamen- 
tal, what ornamental, Having thus measured and cut and put 
together my creed by my own proper intellect, by my own lucu- 
brations, and differing from the whole world in my results, I dis- 
tinctly bid you, I solemnly warn you, not to do as I have done, 
but to accept what I have found, to revere that, to use that, to be- 
lieve that, for it is the teaching of the old Fathers, and of your 
Mother, the Church of England. Take my word for it, that this 



244 



Religious, — Anglicanism. 



.'s the very truth of Christ; deny your own reason, for I know 
better than you, and it is as clear as day that some moral fault in 
you is the cause of your differing from me. It is pride, or vanity, 
or self-reliance, or fulness of bread. You require some medicine 
for your soul ; you must fast ; you must make a general confes- 
sion ; and look very sharp to yourself, for you are already next 
door to a rationalist or an infidel." 

Surely I have not exaggerated : but can a party formed on 
such principles be, in any sense, called a genuine continuation 
of the Apostolical party of twenty years ago ? The basis of that 
party was the professed abnegation of private judgment; your 
basis is the professed exercise of it. (" Anglican Difficulties," 
p. 136.) 



THE NONJURORS AND THE LESSON THEY TEACH. 

In the commencement of the [Tractarian] movement much inter- 
est was felt in the Non-jurors. It was natural that enquirers who 
had drawn their principles from the primitive Church, should be 
attracted by the exhibition of any portion of those principles 
anywhere in, or about, an Establishment which was so emphati- 
cally opposed to them. Therefore, in their need, they fixed their 
eyes on a body of men who were not only sufferers for conscience' 
sake, but held, in connection with their political principles, a 
certain portion of Catholic truth. But, after all, what is, in a 
word, the history of the Non-jurors ; for it does not take long to 
tell it? A party composed of seven Bishops and some hundred 
Clergy, virtuous and learned, and, as regards their leaders, even 
popular, for political services lately rendered to the nation, is 
hardly formed, but it begins to dissolve and come to naught, and 
that simply because it had no sufficient object, represented no 
idea, and proclaimed no dogma. What should keep it together? 
why should it exist? To form an association is to go out of the 
way, and ever requires an excuse or an account of so pretentious 
a proceeding. Such were the ancient apologies put forward for 
the Church in her first age; such the apologies of the Anglican 
Jewell, and the Quaker Barclay. What was the apology of the 
Non-jurors? Now their secession, properly speaking, was based 



The N071- Jurors and the Lesson they Teach. 245 

on no theological truth at all ; it arose simply because, as their 
name signifies, certain Bishops and Clergy could not lake the 
oaths to a new King. There is something very venerable and 
winning in Bishop Ken ; but this arises in part from the very fact 
that he was so little disposed to defend any position, or oppose 
things as they were. He could not take the oaths, and was dis- 
possessed ; but he had nothing special to say for himself; he had 
no message to deliver; his difficulty was of a personal nature, 
and he was unwilling that the Non-juring Succession should be 
continued. It was against his judgment to perpetuate his own 
communion. But look at the body in its more theological aspect, 
and its negative and external character is brought out even more 
strikingly, Its members had much more to say against the Ca- 
tholic Church, like Protestants in general, than for themselves. 
They are considered especially high in their Doctrine of the 
Holy Eucharist ; yet I do not know anything in Dr. Brett's whole 
Treatise on the Ancient Liturgies, which fixes itself so vividly on 
the reader's mind, as his assertion, that the rubrics of the Roman 
Missal are " corrupt, dangerous, superstitious, abominably idola- 
trous, theatrical, and utterly unworthy the gravity of so sacred an 
institution/' 

The Non-jurors were far less certain what they did hold than 
what they did not. They were great champions of the Sacrifice, 
and wished to restore the ancient Liturgies ; yet they could not 
raise their minds to anything higher than the sacrifice of the 
material bread and wine, as representatives of One who was 
not literally present but absent ; as symbols of His Body 
and Blood, not in truth and fact, but in virtue and effect. Yet, 
while they had such insufficient notions of the heavenly gift 
committed to the ordinance, they could, as I have said, be 
very jealous of its outward formalities, and laid the greatest stress 
on a point, important certainly in its place, but not when separat- 
ed from that which gave it meaning and life, the mixing of the 
water with the wine; and upon this, and other questions of high- 
er moment indeed, but not of a character specifically different, 
they soon divided into two communions. They broke into 
pieces, not from external causes, not from the hostility or the 
allurements of a court, but simply because they had no common 
he.irt and life in then. They were safe from the civil sword, 
from thjir insignificancy ; they had no need of falling back on a 



246 



Religious. — A?iglica?iism* 



distant centre for support; all they needed was an idea, an 
object, a work to make them one. 

But I have another remark to make on the Non-jurors. You 
recollect that they are the continuation and heirs of the traditions 
so to call them, of the High Church divines of the seventeenth 
century. Now how high and imposing do the names sound of 
Andrewes, Laud, Taylor, Jackson, Pearson, Cosin, and their fel- 
lows ! I am not speaking against them as individuals, but view- 
ing them as theological authorities. How great and mysterious 
are the doctrines which they teach ! and how proudly they appeal 
to primitive times, and claim the ancient Fathers ! Surely, as 
some one says, " in Laud is our Cyprian, and in Taylor is our 
Chrysostom, and all we want is our Athanasius." Look on, my 
brethren, to the history of the Non-jurors, and you will see what 
these Anglican divines were worth. There you will see that it 
was simply their position, their temporal possessions, their civil 
dignities, as standing round a king's throne, or seated in his 
great council, and not their principles, which made them what 
they were. Their genius, learning, faith, whatever it was, would 
have had no power to stand by themselves ; these qualities had 
no substance ; for, as we see, when the State abandoned them, 
they shrank at once, and collapsed, and ceased to be. These 
qualities were not the stuff out of which a Church is made, though 
they looked well and bravely when fitted upon the Establishment. 
And, indeed, they did not, in the event, wear better in the Estab- 
lishment than out of it ; for since the Establishment at the Revo- 
lution had changed its make and altered its position, the old 
vestments would not fit it, and fell out of fashion. The nation 
and the National Church had got new ideas, and the language of 
the ancient Fathers could not express them. There were those 
who, at the era in question, took the oaths ; they could secure 
their positions — could they secure their creed ? The event answers 
the question. There is some story of Bull and Beveridge, who 
were two of tne number, meeting together, I think in the House 
of Lords, and mourning together over the degeneracy of the 
times. The times certainly were degenerate ; and if learning could 
have restored them, there was enough in those two heads to 
have done the work of Athanasius, Leo, and the seventh 
Gregory ; but learning never made a body live. The High 
Church party died out within the E-tablishment, as well as our- 



An Anglican Argument. 



247 



side of it, for it had neither dogma to rest upon, nor object to 
pursue. 

All this is your warning, my [Anglican] brethren ; you too, 
when it comes to the point, will have nothing to profess, to teach,, 
to transmit. At present you do not know your own weakness. 
You have the life of the Establishment in you, and you fancy it is 
your own life ; you fancy that the accidental congeries of opinions, 
which forms your creed, has that unity, individuality, and consist- 
ency, which allows of its developing into a system, and perpetu- 
ating a school. Look into the matter more steadily ; it is very 
pleasant to decorate your chapels, oratories, and studies now, 
but you cannot be doing this for ever. It is pleasant to adopt a 
habit or a vestment ; to use your office-book or your beads ; but 
it is like feeding on flowers^ unless you have that objective vision 
in your faith, and that satisfaction in your reason, of which de- 
votional exercises and ecclesiastical regulations are the suitable 
expression. Such will not last in the long run, as are not com- 
manded and rewarded by divine authority ; they cannot be made 
to rest on the influence of individuals. It is well to have rich 
architecture, curious works of art, and splendid vestments, when 
you have a present God ; but oh ! what a mockery, if you have 
not! If your externals surpass what is within, you are, so far. as 
hollow as your Evangelical opponents, who baptize, yet expect 
no grace; or, as the latitudinarian, . . who would make Christ's 
kingdom not of this world, in order to do little more than the 
world's work. Thus your Church becomes, not a home, but a 
sepulchre ; like those high cathedrals, once Catholic, which you 
do not know what to do with, which you shut up and make 
monuments of, sacred to the memory of what has passed away. 
("Anglican Difficulties," p. 193.) 



THE ANGLICAN ARGUMENT FROM DIFFERENCES 

AMONG CATHOLICS, 

The primary question, with every serious enquirer, is the ques- 
tion of salvation. I am speaking to those who feel this to be so ; 
not to those who make religion a sort of literature or philosophy.. 



Religio us. — A nglica n is m . 



but to those who desire, both in their creed and in their conduct 
to approve themselves to their Maker, and to save their souls. 
This being taken for granted, it immediately follows to ask, 
" What must I do to be saved ? " and " Who is to teach me ? " and 
next, Can Protestantism, can the National Church teach me? 
No, is the answer of common sense, for this simple reason, be- 
cause of the variations and discordances in teaching of both the 
one and the other. The National Church is no guide into the 
truth, because no one knows what it holds, and what it com- 
mands : one party says this, and a second party says that, and a 
third party says neither this nor that. I must seek the truth then 
elsewhere ; and then the question follows, Shall I seek it in the 
Communion of Rome? In answer, this objection is instantly 
made, 11 You cannot find the truth in Rome, for there are as many 
divisions there as in the National Communion." Who would not 
suppose the objection to mean, that these divisions were such as 
to make it difficult or impossible to ascertain what it was that the 
Roman Communion taught? Who would not suppose it to mean 
that there was within the Communion of Rome a difference ot 
creed and of dogmatic teaching ? whereas the state of the case is 
just the reverse. No one can pretend that the quarrels in the 
Catholic Church are questions of faith, or have tended in any way 
to obscure or impair what she declares to be such, and what is 
acknowledged to be such by the very parties in those quarrels. 
That Dominicans and Franciscans have been zealous respectively 
for certain doctrinal views, which they declare at the same time 
to be beyond and in advance of the promulgated faith of the 
Church, throws no doubt upon that faith itself ; how does it follow 
that they differ in questions of faith, because they differ in ques- 
tions not of faith? Rather, I would say, if a number of parties 
distinct from each other give the same testimony on certain 
points, their differences on other points do but strengthen the 
evidence for the truth of those matters in which they all are 
agreed ; and the greater the difference, the more remarkable is 
the unanimity. The question is, M Where can I be taught, who 
cannot be taught by the National Communion, because it does 
not teach?" and the Protestant warning runs, ''Not in the Catho- 
lic Church, because she, in spire of differences on subordinate 
points amongst her members, does teach." 

In truth, she not only teaches in spite of those differences, but 



Anglican Objections from Antiquity. 249 



she has ever taught by means of them. Those very differences of 
Catholics on further points have themselves implied and brought 
out their absolute faith in the doctrines which are pievious to 
them. The doctrines of faith are the common basis of the com- 
batants, the ground on which they contend, their ultimate 
authority, and their arbitrating rule. They are assumed, and in- 
troduced, and commented on, and enforced, in every stage of the 
alternate disputation ; and I will venture to say, that, if you wish 
to get a good view of the unity, consistency, solidity, and reality 
of Catholic teaching, your best way is to get up the controversy 
on Grace, or on the Immaculate Conception, No one can do so 
without acquiring a mass of theological knowledge, and sinking 
in his intellect a foundation of dogmatic truth, which is simply 
antecedent and common to the rival schools, and which they do 
but exhibit and elucidate. To suppose that they perplex an en- 
quirer or a convert, is to fancy that litigation destroys the princ- 
ples and the science of law, or that spelling out words of five 
syllables makes a child forget his alphabet. On the other hand, 
place your unfortunate enquirer between Luther and Calvin, if the 
Holy Eucharist is his subject ; or, if he is determining the rule 
of faith, between Bramhall and Chillingworth, Bull and Hoadley, 
and what residuum will be left, when you have eliminated their 
contrarieties? ("Anglican Difficulties," p. 271.) 



ANGLICAN OBJECTIONS FROM ANTIQUITY. 
(I.) 

IF I am to say something, not directly in answer to the particu- 
lar objections in detail brought from antiquity against the doc- 
trine and discipline of the present Catholic Church, but by way 
of appeasing and allaying that general misgiving and perplexity 
which these objections excite, what can I do better than appeal 
to a fact, — though I cannot do so without some indulgence on the 
part of my hearers, — a fact connected with myself? And it is the 
less unfair to do so, because, as regards the history of the early 
Church and the writings pf the Fathers, so many must go by the 



250 Religious . — Anglicanism. 



testimony of others, and so few have opportunity to use their own 
experience. I say, then, that the writings of the Fathers, so far 
from prejudicing at least one man against the modern Catholic 
Church, have been simply and solely the one intellectual cause 
of his having renounced the religion in which he was born and 
submitted himself to her. What other causes there may be, not 
intellectual, unknown, unsuspected by himself, though freely im- 
puted on mere conjecture by those who would invalidate his 
testimony, it would be unbecoming and impertinent to discuss ; 
for himself, if he is asked why he became a Catholic, he can only 
give that answer which experience and consciousness bring home 
to him as the true one, viz., that he joined the Catholic Church 
simply because he believed it, and it only, to be the Church of 
the Fathers ; — because he believed that there was a Church upon 
earth till the end of time, and one only ; and because, unless it 
was the Communion of Rome, and it only, there was none ; — be- 
cause, to use language purposely guarded, because it was the 
language of controversy, " all parties will agree that, of all 
existing systems, the present Communion of Rome is the nearest 
approximation in fact to the Church of the Fathers ; possible 
though some may think it, to be still nearer to it on paper ; " — 
because, " did St. Athanasius or St. Ambrose come suddenly to 
life, it cannot be doubted what Communion they would mistake," 
that is, would reGognize, ''for their own;" — because "all will 
agree that these Fathers, with whatever differences of opinion, 
whatever protests if you will, would find themselves more at home 
with such men as St. Bernard or St. Ignatius Loyola, or with the 
lonely priest in his lodgings, or the holy sisterhood of charity, or 
the unlettered crowd before the altar, than with the rulers or the 
members of any other religious community."* 

This is the great, manifest, historical phenomenon which con- 
verted me — to which all particular enquiries converged. Chris- 
tianity is not a matter of opinion, but an external fact, entering 
into, carried out in, indivisible from, the history of the world. It 
has a bodily occupation of the world ; it is one continuous fact or 

* Essay on Doctrinal Development, p. 138. This Essay it will be remembered, 
was kl written and partly printed " while Dr. Newman was still an Anglican. It 
was as he u advanced in it" that his 11 difficulties cleared away," and he resolved 
to be received into the Catholic Church. See p. 57 of th£ present volume. 



Anglican Objections from Antiquity. 251 



thing, the same from first to last, distinct from everything else: 
to be a Christian is to partake of, to submit to, this thing ; and the 
simple question was, Where, what is this thing in this age, which 
in the first age was the Catholic Church? The answer was un- 
deniable ; the Church called Catholic now, is that very same 
thing in hereditary descent, in organization, in principles, in 
position, in external relations, which was called the Catholic 
Church then ; name and thing have ever gone together, by an un- 
interrupted connection and succession, from then till now. 
Whether it had been corrupted in its teaching was, at best, a 
matter of opinion. It was indefinitely more evident a fact, that it 
stood on the ground and in the place of the ancient Church, as its 
heir and representative, than that certain peculiarities in its 
teaching were really innovations and corruptions. Say there is 
no Church at all, if you will, and at least I shall understand you ; 
but do not meddle with a fact attested by mankind. I am almost 
ashamed to insist upon so plain a point, which in many respects 
is axiomatically true, except that there are persons who wish to 
deny it. Of course, there are and have been such persons, and 
men of deep learning ; but their adverse opinion does not inter- 
fere with my present use of what I think so plain. Observe, I am 
not insisting on it as an axiom, though that is my own view of 
the matter ; nor proving it as a conclusion, nor forcing it on your 
acceptance as your reason for joining the Catholic Church, as it 
was mine. Let every one have his own reason for becoming a 
Catholic ; for reasons are in plenty, and there are enough for you 
all, and moreover all of them are good ones and consistent with 
each other. I am not assigning reasons why you should be 
Catholics ; you have them already : from first to last I am doing 
nothing more than removing difficulties in your path, which 
obstruct the legitimate effect of those reasons which have, 
as I am assuming, already convinced you. And to-day I am 
answering the objection, so powerfully urged upon those who have 
no means of examining it for themselves, that, as a matter of fact, 
the modern Church has departed from the teaching of the ancient. 
Now even one man's contrary testimony obscures the certainty o! 
this supposed matter of fact, though it is not sufficient to establish 
any opposite matter of fact of his own. I say, then, the Catholi- 
cism of to-day is not likely to be really very different from the 
Catholicism of antiquity, if its agreement, or rather its identity 



252 



Religious. — A nglicanism. 



with antiquity forms the very reason on which even one educated 
and reflecting person was induced, much against every natural 
inducement, to submit to its claims. Ancient Catholicity cannot 
supply a very conclusive argument against modern Catholicity, 
if the ancient has furnished even one such person with a conclu- 
sive argument in favor of the modern. . . 

(no 

Yet this was but one head of argument, which the history of 
the early Church afforded against the National Establishment, 
and in favor of the Roman See. I have already alluded to the 
light which the schism of the African Donatists casts on the ques- 
tion between the two parties in the controversy ; it is clear, strong 
and decisive, but perfectly distinct from the proof derivable from 
the Arian, Nestorian, and Monophysite histories.* 

Then, again, after drawing out from antiquity the outlines of 
the ecclesiastical structure, and its relations to bodies and 
powers external to it, when we go on, as it were, to color it with 
the thousand tints which are to be found in the same ancient re- 
cords, when we consider the ritual of the Church, the ceremonial 
of religion, the devotions of private Christians, the opinions 
generally received, and the popular modes of acting, what do we find 
but a third and most striking proof of the identity between primi- 
tive Christianity and modern Catholicism? No other form of 
Christianity but this present Catholic Communion, has a pretence 
to resemble, even in the faintest shadow, the Christianity of 
antiquity, viewed as a living religion on the stage of the world. 
This has ever attached me to such works as Fleury's Church His- 
tory ; because, whatever may be its incidental defects or mistakes, 
it brings before the reader so vividly the Church of the Fathers, 
as a fact and a reality, instead of speculating, after the manner of 
most histories, on the principles, or of making views upon the 
facts, or cataloguing the heresies, rites, or writers, of those ancient 
times. You may make ten thousand extracts from the Fathers, 
and not get deeper into the state of their times than the paper 
you write upon ; to imbibe into the intellect the ancient Church 
as a fact, is either to be a Catholic or an infidel. 



* [See p? 4 6, 47, and 51.] 



Anglican Objections from Antiquity. 253 



Recollect, my brethren, I am going into these details, not as if 
1 thought of convincing you on the spot by a view of history 
which convinced me after careful consideration, nor as if I called 
on you to be convinced by what convinced me at all (for the me- 
thods of conviction are numberless, and one man approaches the 
Church by this road, another by that), but merely in order to 
show you how it was that antiquity, instead of leading me from 
the Holy See as it leads many, on the contrary drew me on to 
submit to its claims. But, even had I worked out for you these 
various arguments ever so fully, I should have brought before you 
but a secondary portion of the testimony which the ancient 
Church seemed to me to supply to its own identity with the mo- 
dern. What was far more striking to mc than the ecclesiastical 
phenomena which I have been drawing out, remarkable as they 
are, is a subject of investigation which is not of a nature to intro- 
duce into a popular lecture ; I mean, the history of the doctrinal 
definitions of the Church. It is well known that, though the creed 
of the Church has been one and the same from the beginning, yet 
it has been so deeply lodged in her bosom as to be held by indi- 
viduals more or less implicitly, instead of being delivered from 
the first in those special statements, or what are called definitions, 
under which it is now presented to us, and which preclude mis- 
take or ignorance. These definitions, which are but the expression 
of portions of the one dogma which has ever been received by the 
Church, are the work of time ; they have grown to their present 
shape and number in the course of eighteen centuries, under the 
exigency of successive events, such as heresies and the like, and 
they may, of course, receive still further additions as time goes 
on. Now this process of doctrinal development, as you might 
suppose, is not of an accidental or random character ; it is con- 
ducted upon laws, as everything else which comes from God ; and 
the study of its laws and of its exhibition, or, in other words, the 
science arid history of the formation of theology, was a subject 
which had intsrested me more than anything else from the time I 
first began to read the Fathers, and which had engaged my atten- 
tion in a special way. Now it was gradually brought home to me, 
in the course of my reading, so gradually, that I cannot trace the 
steps of my conviction, that the decrees of later Councils, or what 
Anglicans call the Roman corruptions, were but instances of that 
?ery same, doctrinal law which was to be found in the history of 



254 



Religious. — Anglicanism. 



the early Church ; and that in the sense in which the dogmatic 
truth of the prerogatives of the Blessed Virgin maybe said, in the 
lapse of centuries, to have grown upon the consciousness of the 
faithful, in that same sense did, in the first age, the mystery of the 
Blessed Trinity also gradually shine out and manifest itself more 
and more completely before their minds. Here was at once an 
answer to the objections urged by Anglicans against the pre- 
sent teaching of Rome ; and not only an answer to objections, 
but a positive argument in its favor ; for the immutability and un- 
interrupted action of the laws in question throughout the course 
of Church history is a plain note of identity between the Catholic 
Church of the first ages and that which now goes by that name; — just 
as the argument from the analogy of natural and revealed religion 
is at once an answer to difficulties in the latter, and a direct proof 
that Christianity has the same Author as the physical and moral 
world. But the force of this, to me, ineffably cogent argument, I 
cannot hope to convey to another. ("Anglican Difficulties/' 
p. 320.) 



INVINCIBLE IGNORANCE AND ANGLICANISM. 

(I.) 

I suppose, as regards this country, . . we may entertain 
most reasonable hopes that vast multitudes are in a state of invin- 
cible ignorance ; so that those among them who are living a life 
really religious and conscientious, may be looked upon with inter- 
est and even pleasure, though a mournful pleasure, in the midst 
of the pain which a Catholic feels at their ignorant prejudices 
against what he knows to be true. Amongst the most bitter raL- 
ers against the Church in this country, may be found those who 
are influenced by divine grace, and are at present travelling 
towards heaven, whatever be their ultimate destiny. Among the 
most irritable disputants against the Sacrifice of the Mass or 
Transubstantiation, or the most impatient listeners to the glories 
of Mary, there may be those for whom she is saying to her Son, 
what He said on the cross to His Father, " Forgive them, for they 
know not what they do,'* Nay, while such persons think as at 



Invincible Ignorance and Anglicanism. 255 



present, they are bound to act accordingly, and only so far to con- 
nect themselves with us as their conscience allows. "When 
persons who have been brought up to heresy," says a Catholic 
theologian, "are persuaded from their childhood that we are the 
enemies of God's word, are idolaters, pestilent deceivers, and 
therefore, as pests, to be avoided, they cannot, while this persua- 
sion lasts, hear us with a safe conscience, and they labor under 
in vincible ignorance, inasmuch as they doubt not that they are in 
a good way." * 

Nor does it suffice, in order to throw them out of this irresponsi- 
ble state, and to make them guilty of their ignorance, that there 
are means actually in their power of getting rid of it. For instance, 
say they have no conscientious feeling against frequenting Catho- 
lic chapels, conversing with Catholics, or reading their books; 
and siv tbev are thrown into the neighborhood of the one or the 
company of the other, and do not avail themselves of their opportu- 
nities ; still these persons do not become responsible for their 
present ignorance till such time as they actually feel it, till a 
doubt crosses them upon the subject, and the thought comes 
upon them that enquiry is a duty. And thus Protestants may be 
living in the midst of Catholic light, and laboring under the dens- 
est and most stupid prejudices ; and yet we may be able to view 
them with hope, though with anxiety, with the hope that the ques- 
tion has never occurred to them, strange as it may seem, whether 
we are not right and they wrong. Nay, I will say something 
further still ; they may be so circumstanced that it is quite certain 
that, in course of time, this ignorance will be removed, and doubt 
will be suggested to them, and the necessity of enquiry conse- 
quently imposed ; and according to our best judgment, fallible 
of course as it is, we may be quite certain too, that, when that 
time comes, they will refuse to enquire, and will quench the 
doubt; yet should it so happen that they are cut off by death be- 
fore that time has arrived (I am putting an hypothetical case), we 
may have as much hope of their salvation as if we had had no such 
foreboding about them on our mind ; for there is nothing to show 
that they were not taken away on purpose, in order that their 
ignorance might be their excuse. 

As to the prospect of those countless multitudes of a country 



* Busenbaum, vol. i., p. 54. 



256 



Religious, — Anglicanism. 



like this, who apparently have no supernatural vision of the next 
world at all, and die without fear, because they die without 
thought, with these, alas! I am not here concerned. But the re- 
marks I have been making suggest much of comfort, when we 
look out into what is called the religious world in all its varieties, 
whether it be the High Church section, or the Evangelical, whe- 
ther it be in the Establishment, or in Methodism, or in Dissent, 
so far as there seems to be real earnestness and invincible preju- 
dice. One cannot but hope that that written Word of God, for 
which they desire to be jealous, though exhibited to them in a 
mutilated form and in a translation unsanctioned by Holy Church, 
is of incalculable blessings to their souls, and may be, through 
God's grace, the divine instrument of bringing many to contrition 
zr>i to a happy death who have received no sacrament since they 
were baptized in their infancy. One cannot hope but that the 
Anglican Prayer Book, with its Psalter and Catholic prayers, 
even though these, in the translation, have passed through here 
tical intellects, may retain so much of its old virtue as to co-ope 
rate with divine grace in the instruction and salvation of a large 
remnant. In these and many other ways, even in England, and 
much more in Greece, the difficulty is softened which is presented 
to the imagination by the view of such large populations, who, 
though called Christian, are not Catholic or orthodox in creed. 

(ii.) 

There is but one set of persons, indeed, who inspire the Catho 
lie with special anxiety, as much so as the open sinner, who is 
not peculiar to any Communion, Catholic or schismatic, and who 
does not come into the present question. There is one set of 
persons in whom every Catholic must feel intense interest, about 
whom he must feel the gravest apprehensions ; viz. those who 
have some rays of light vouchsafed to them as to their heresy or 
as to their schism, and who seem to be closing their eyes upon it; 
or those who have actually gained a clear view of the nothingness 
of their own Communion, and the reality and divinity of the Ca- 
tholic Church, yet delay to act upon their knowledge. You, my 
dear brethren, if such are here present, are in a very different 
state from those around you. You are called by the inscrutable 
grace of God to the possession of a great benefit, and to refuse the 



Invincible Ignorance and Anglicatiism. 257 



benefit is to lose the grace. You cannot be as others: they pur- 
sue their own way, they walk over this wide earth, and see no- 
thing wonderful or glorious in the sun, moon, and stars of the 
spiritual heavens ; or they have an intellectual sense of their 
duty, but no feeling of duty or of love towards them; 
they wish to love them, but think they ought not, lest 
they should get a distaste for that mire and foulness 
which is their present portion. They have not yet had 
the call to enquire, and to seek, and to pray for further guid- 
ance, infused into their hearts by the gracious Spirit of God ; and 
they will be judged according to what is given them, not by 
what is not. But on you the thought has dawned that possibly 
Catholicism may be true ; you have doubted the safety of your 
present position, and the present pardon of your sins, and the 
completeness of your present faith. You, by means of that very 
system in which you find yourselves, have been led to doubt that 
system. If the Mosaic law. given from above, was a schoolmas- 
ter to lead souls to Christ, much more is it true that an heretical 
creed, when properly understood, warns us against itself, and 
frightens us from it, and is forced against its will to open for us 
with its own hands its prison gates, and to show us the way to a 
better country. So has it been with you. You set out in simpli- 
city and earnestness intending to serve it, and your very serving 
taught you to serve another. You began to use its prayers and 
act upon its rules, and they did but witness against it, and made 
you love it, not more but less, and carried off your affections to 
one whom you had not loved. The more you gazed upon your 
own communion the more unlike it you grew ; the more you tried 
to be good Anglicans, the more you found yourselves drawn in 
heart and spirit to the Catholic Church. It was the destiny of 
the false prophetess that she could not keep the little ones who 
devoted themselves to her ; and the more simply they gave up 
their private judgment to her, the more sure they were of being 
thrown off by her, against their will, into the current of attraction 
which led straight to the true Mother of their souls. So month has 
gone on after month, and year after year ; and you have again and 
again vowed obedience to your own Church, and you have pro- 
tested against those who left her, and you have thought you found 
in them what you liked not, and you have prophesied evil 
about them and good about yourselves ; and your plans seemed 



258 



R*l ; g>ous. — Anglicanism. 



prospering and yo«r influence extending, and great things were 
to be ; and yet 4 Ftr^nge to say, at the end of the time you have 
found yourselves steadily advanced in the direction which you 
feared, and never were nearer to the promised land than you are 
now. 

O, look well to your footing that you slip not ; be very much 
afraid lest the world should detain you ; dare not in anything to 
fall short of God's grace, or to lag behind when that grace goes 
forward. Walk with it, co-operate with it, and I know how it will 
end. You are not the first persons who have trodden that path ; 
yet a little time, and, please God, the bitter shall be sweet, and 
the sweet bitter, and you will have undergone the agony, and will 
be lodged safely in the true home of your souls and the valley of 
peace. Yet but a little while, and you will look out from your 
resting place upon the wanderers outside ; and will wonder why 
they do not see that way which is now so plain to you, and will be 
impatient with them that they do not come on faster. And, where- 
as you are now so perplexed in mind that you seem to yourselves 
to believe nothing, tnen you will be so full of faith, that you will 
almost see invisible mysteries, and will touch the threshold ot 
eternity. And you will be so full of joy that you will wish all 
around you to he partakers of it, as if for your own relief ; and you 
will suddenlv be filled with yearnings, deep and passionate, for 
the salvation of those dear friends whom you have outstripped ; 
and you will not mind their coolness, or stiffness, or distance, or 
constrained gravity, for the love you bear to their souls. 
And, though they will not hear you, you will address 
yourselves to those who will ; I mean, you will weary 
Heaven with your novenas for them, and you will be ever getting 
Masses for their conversion, and you will go to communion for 
them, and you will not rest till the bright morning comes, and 
they are yours once again. (" Anglican Difficulties," p. 309.) 



Difference between Catholicism and Anglicanism. 259 



FUNDAMENTAL DIFFERENCE BETWEEN CATHO- 
LTCISM AND ANGLICANISM. 

The idea of worship is different in the Catholic Church from the 
idea of it in [Anglicanism] ; for, in truth, the religions are differ- 
ent. . . It is not that ours is your religion carried a little fur- 
ther, — a little too far, as you would say. No, they differ in kind, 
not in degree ; ours is one religion, yours another. And when 
the time comes, and come it will, for you, alien as you are now, 
to submit yourself to the gracious yoke of Christ, then, . . it will 
be faith which will enable you to bear the ways and usages of 
Catholics, which else might perhaps startle you. Else the habits 
of years, the associations in your mind of a certain outward beha- 
vior with real inward acts of devotion, might embarrass you, when 
you had to conform yourself to other habits, and to create for your- 
self other associations. But this faith, of which I speak, the great 
gift of God, will enable you in that day to overcome yourself, and 
to submit, as your judgment, your will, your reason, your af- 
fections, so your tastes and likings, to the rule and us^ge of the 
Church. Ah, that faith should be necessary in such 1 matter 
("Loss and Gain," p. 289.) 




Section III.— CATHOLICISM. 



CATHOLICISM AND THE RELIGIONS OF THE WORLD. 

How different are all religions that ever were, from the lofty 
and unchangeable Catholic Church ! They depend on time and 
place for their existence, they live in periods or in regions. 
They are children of the soil, indigenous plants, which readily 
flourish under a certain temperature, in a certain aspect, in moist 
or in dry, and die if they are transplanted. Their habitat is one 
article of their scientific description. Thus the Greek schism, 
Nestorianism, the heresy of Calvin, and Methodism, each has its 
geographical limits. Protestantism has gained nothing in Europe 
since its first outbreak. Some accident gives rise to these reli- 
gious manifestations ; some sickly season, the burning sun, the 
vapor-laden marsh, breeds a pestilence, and there it remains, 
hanging in the air over its birthplace perhaps for centuries ; then 
some change takes place in the earth or in the heavens, and it sud- 
denly is no more. Sometimes, however, it is true, such scourges of 
God have a course upon earth, and affect a Catholic range. They 
issue as from some poisonous lake or pit in Ethiopia or in India, 
and march forth with resistless power to fulfil their mission 
of evil, and walk to and fro over the face of the world. 
Such was the Arabian imposture of which Mahomet was the 
framer ; and you will ask, perhaps, whether it has not done that 
which I have said the Catholic Church alone can do, and proved 
thereby that it had in it an eternal principle, which, depending 
not on man, could subdue him in any time or place? No ; look 
narrowly, and you will see the marked distinction which exists 
between the religion of Mahomet and the Church of Christ. For 



Catholicism and the Religions of the World. 261 



Mahometanism has done little more than the Anglican com- 
munion is doing at present. That communion is found in many 
parts of the world ; its primate has a jurisdiction even greater 
than the Nestorian Patriarch of old ; it has establishments in 
Malta, in Jerusalem, in India, in China, in Australia, in South 
Africa, and in Canada. Here, at least, you will say, is Catholi- 
city, even greater than that of Mahomet. Oh, be not beguiled by 
words : will any thinking man say for a moment, whatever this 
objection be worth, that the established Religion is superior to 
time and place? well, if not, why set about proving that it is? 
rather, does not its essence lie in its recognition by the State? is 
not its establishment its very form? what would it be, would it 
last ten years, if abandoned to itself? It is its establishment 
which erects it into a unity and individuality ; can you contem- 
plate it, though you stimulate your imagination to the task, ab- 
stracted from its churches, palaces, colleges, parsonages, reve- 
nues, civil precedence, and national position ? Strip it of this 
world, and you have performed a mortal operation upon it, for it 
has ceased to be. Take its bishops out of the legislature, tear its 
formularies from the Statute- Book, open its universities to Dis- 
senters, allow its clergy to become laymen again, legalize its 
private prayer-meetings, and what would be its definition ? You 
know that, did not the State compel it to be one, it would split at 
once into three several bodies, each bearing within it the ele- 
ments of further divisions. Even the small party of Non-jurors, 
a century and a half since, when released from the civil power, 
split into two. It has then no internal consistency, or individu- 
ality, or soul, to give it the capacity of piopagation. Methodism 
represents some sort of an idea, Congregationalism an idea ; the 
Established Religion has in it no idea beyond establishment. Its 
extension has been, for the most part, passive, not active ; it is 
carried forward into other places by State policy, and it moves 
because the State moves ; it is an appendage, whether weapon or 
decoration, of the sovereign power ; it is the religion, not even of 
a race, but of the ruling portion of a race. The Anglo-Saxon 
has done in this day what the Saracen did in a former. He does 
grudgingly for expedience, what the other did heartily from fana- 
ticism. This is the chief difference between the two ; the Sara- 
cen, in hjs commencement, converted the heretical East with the 
sword ; but at least in India the extension of his faith has been 



262 



Religious. — Catholicism. 



by immigration, as the Anglo-Saxon's now ; he grew into othei 
nations by commerce and colonization ; but, when he encountered 
the Catholic of the West, he made as little impression upon 
Spain, as the Protestant Anglo-Saxon makes on Ireland. 

There is but one form of Christianity possessed of that real in- 
ternal unity which is the primary condition of independence. 
Whether you look to Russia, England, or Germany, this note of 
divinity is wanting. In this country, especially, there is nothing 
broader than class religions ; the established form itself is but 
the religion of a class. There is one persuasion for the rich, and 
another for the poor ; men are born in this or that sect ; the en- 
thusiastic go here, and the sober-minded and rational go there. 
They make money, and rise in the world, and then they profess 
to belong to the Establishment. This body lives in the world's 
winter, and the other would melt away in the summer. Not one 
of them undertakes human nature: none compasses the whole 
man ; none places all men on a level ; none addresses the in- 
tellect and the heart, fear and love, the active and the contem- 
plative. It is considered, and justly, as an evidence for Chris- 
tianity, that the ablest men have been Christians ; not that all sa- 
gacious or profound minds have taken up its profession, but that 
it has gained victories among them, such and so many, as to 
show that it is not the mere fact of ability or learning which is 
the reason why all are not converted. Such too is the character- 
istic of Catholicity ; not the highest in rank, not the meanest, 
not the most refined, not the rudest, is beyond the influence of 
the Church ; she includes specimens of every class among her 
children. She is the solace of the forlorn, the chastener of the 
prosperous, and the guide of the wayward. She keeps a mother's 
eye for the innocent, bears with a heavy hand upon the wanton, 
and has a voice of majesty for the proud. She opens the mind 
of the ignorant, and she prostrates the intellect of even the most 
gifted. These are not words ; she has done it, she does it still 
she undertakes to do it. All she asks is an open field, and free- 
dom to act. She asks no patronage from the civil power ; in for- 
mer times and places she has asked it; and, as Protestantism 
also, has availed herself of the civil sword. It is true she did so, 
because in certain ages it has been the acknowledged mode of 
acting, the most expeditious, and open at the time to no objec- 
tion, and because, where she has done so, the people clamored 



Faith in the Catholic Church, 



263 



for it and did it in advance of her ; but her history shows that she 
needed it not, for she has extended and flourished without it. She 
is ready for any service which occurs ; she will take the world as 
it comes ; nothing but force can repress her. See, my brethren 
what she is doing in this country now ; for three centuries the 
civil power has trodden down the goodly plant of grace, and kept 
its foot upon it ; at length circumstances have removed that 
tyranny, and lo ! the fair form of the Ancient Church rises up at 
once, as fresh and as vigorous as if she had never intermitted her 
growth. She is the same as she was three centuries ago, ere the 
present religions of the country existed ; you know her to be the 
same ; it is the charge brought against her that she does not 
change ; time and place affect her not, because she has her source 
where there is neither time nor place, because she comes from 
the throne of the Illimitable, Eternal God. ("Discourses to 
Mixed Congregations," p. 250.) 



FAITH IN THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 
(I.) 

It is perfectly true that the Church does not allow her children 
to entertain any doubt of her teaching ; and that, first of all, 
simply for this reason, because they are Catholics only while they 
have faith, and faith is incompatible with doubt. No one can be 
a Catholic without a simple faith, that what the Church declares 
in God's name, is God's word, and therefore true. A man must 
simply believe that the Church is the oracle of God ; he must be as 
certain of her mission as he is of the mission of the Apostles. Now, 
would any one ever call himself certain that the Apostles cam© 
from God, if, after professing his certainty, he added, that, for what 
he knew, he might doubt one day about their mission ? Such an an- 
ticipation would be a real, though latent doubt, betraying that he 
was not certain of it at present. A person who says, " I believe just 
at this moment, but perhaps I am excited without knowing it, and 
I cannot answer for m) r self that I shall believe to-morrow," does 
not believe. A man who says, " Perhaps I am in a kind of de- 
lusion, which will one day pass away from me, and leave me as I 



264 



Religious. — Catholicism. 



was before " ; or, M I believe as far as I can tell, biu there may bo 

arguments in the background which will change my view," such 
a man has not faith at all. When, then, Protestants quarrel with 
us for saying that those who join us must give up all ideas of 
ever doubting the Church in time to come, they do nothing else 
but quarrel with us for insisting on the necessity of faith in her. 
Let them speak plainly ; our offence is that of demanding faith 
in the Holy Catholic Church ; it is this, and nothing else. I must 
insist upon this : faith implies a confidence in a man's mind, that 
ihe thing believed is really true ; but, if it is once true, it never 
can be false. If it is true that God became man, what is the 
meaning of my anticipating a time when perhaps I shall not be- 
lieve that God became man? This is nothing short of antici- 
pating a time when I shall disbelieve a truth. And if I bargain 
to be allowed in time to come not to believe, or to doubt, that 
God became man, I am but asking to be allowed to doubt, or to 
disbelieve, what is an eternal truth. I do not see the privilege of 
such a permission at all, or the meaning of wishing to secure it: 
— if at present I have no doubt whatever about it. then I am but 
asking leave to fall into error ; if at present I have doubts about 
it, then I do not believe it at present, that is, I have not faith. 
But I cannot both really believe it now, and yet look forward to 
a time when, perhaps, I shall not believe It ; to make provision 
for future doubt, is to doubt at present. It proves I am not in a fit 
state to become a Catholic now. I may love by halves, I may 
obey by halves ; I cannot believe by halves : either I have faith, cr 
I have it not. 

And so, again, when a man has become a Catholic, were he to 
set about following out a doubt which has occurred to him, he has 
already disbelieved, /have not to warn him against losing his 
/aith, he is not merely in danger of losing it, he has lost it ; from 
the nature of the case, he has already lost it ; he fell from grace 
at the moment when he deliberately determined to pursue his 
doubt. ZSTo one can determine to doubt what he is sure of ; but 
rf he is not sure that the Church is from God, he does not believe 
it. It is not I who forbid him to doubt ; he has taken the matter 
into his own hands when he determined on asking for leave ; he 
has begun, not ended, in unbelief ; his very wish, his purpose, 
is his sin. I do not make it so, it is such from the very state of 
the case. You sometimes hear, for example, of Catholics fallirfp 



Faith in the Catholic Church. 



away, who will tell you it arose from reading the Scriptures, which 
opened their eyes to the " unscripturalness," so they speak, of 
the Church of the Living God. No, Scripture did not make them 
disbelieve (impossible !) ; they disbelieved when they opened the 
Bible ; they opened it in an unbelieving spirit, and for an unbe- 
lieving purpose; they would not have opened it had they not an- 
ticipated — I might say, hoped — that they should find things there 
inconsistent with Catholic teaching. They begin in self-will and 
disobedience, and they end in apostasy. This, then, is the direct 
and obvious reason why the Church cannot allow her children 
the liberty of doubting the truth of her word. He who really be- 
lieves in it now, cannot imagine the future discovery of reasons 
to shake his faith ; if he imagines it, he has not faith ; and that so 
many Protestants think it a sort of tyranny in the Church to for- 
bid any children of hers to doubt about her teaching, only shows 
they do not know what faith is — which is the case ; it is a strange 
idea to them. Let a man cease to enquire, or cease to call him- 
self her child. 

(no 

This is my first remark, and now I go on to a second. You may 
easily conceive, that they who are entering the Church, or at least 
those who have entered it, have more than faith ; that they have 
some portion of Divine love also. They have heard in the Church 
of the charity of Him who died for them, and who has given them 
His Sacraments as the means of conveying the merits of His death 
to their souls, and they have felt more or less in those poor souls 
of theirs, the beginnings of a responsive charity drawing them to 
Him. Now, does it stand with a loving trust, better than with 
faith, for a man to anticipate the possibility of doubting or deny- 
ing the great mercies in which he is rejoicing? Take an instance ; 
what would you think of a friend whom you loved, who could 
bargain that, in spite of his present trust in you, he might be 
allowed some day to doubt you ? who, when a thought came into 
his mind that you were playing a game with him, or that you were 
a knave, or a profligate, did not drive it from him with indig- 
nation, or laugh it away for its absurdity, but considered that he 
had an evident right to indulge it, nay, should be wanting in duty 
to himself, unless he did ? Would you think that your frie 4 



266 



Religious. — Catholicism. 



trifled with truth, that he was unjust to his reason, that he was 
wanting in manliness, that he was hurting his mind, if he shrank 
from it, or would you call him cruel and miserable if he did not ? 
For me, if he took the latter course, may I never be intimate with 
so unpleasant a person ; suspicious, jealous minds, minds that 
keep at a distance from me, that insist on their rights, fall back 
on their own centre, are ever fancying offences, and are cold, cen- 
sorious, wayward, and uncertain, these are often to be borne as a 
cross ; but give me for my friend, one who will unite heart and 
hand with me, who will throw himself into my cause and interest, 
who will take my part when I am attacked, who will be sure be- 
forehand that I am in the right, and, if he is critical, as he may 
have cause to be towards a being of sin and imperfection, will be so 
from very love and loyalty, from anxiety that I should always show 
to advantage, and a wish that others should love me as heartily 
as he. I should not say a friend trusted me, who listened to every 
idle story against me ; and I should like his absence better than 
his company, if he gravely told me that it was a duty he owed to 
himself to encourage his misgivings of my honor. 

Well, pass on to a higher subject — could a man be said to trust 
in God, and to love God, who was familiar with doubts whether 
there was a God at all, or who bargained that, just as often as he 
pleased, he might be at liberty to doubt whether God was good, 
or just, or almighty ; and who maintained that, unless he did this, 
he was but a poor slave, that his mind was in bondage, and could 
render no free acceptable service to his Maker ; — that the very 
worship which God approved, was one attended with a caveat, on 
the worshipper's part, that he did not promise to render it to-mor- 
row, that he would not answer for himself that some argument 
might not come to light, which he had never heard before, 
which would make it a grave moral duty in him to suspend 
his judgment and his devotion? Why, I should say, that that 
man was worshipping his own mind, his own dear self, and not 
God ; that his idea of God was a mere accidental form, which his 
thoughts took at this time or that, for a long period or a short 
one, as the case might be, not an image of the great Eternal 
Object, but a passing sentiment or imagination, which meant 
nothing at all. I should say, and most men would agree with 
me, did they choose to give attention to the matter, that the per- 
son in question was a very self-conceited, self-wise man, and had 



Faith in the Catholic Church. 267 



neither love, nor faith, nor fear, nor anything supernatural about 
him ; that his pride must be broken, and his heart new-made, be- 
fore he was capable of any religious act at all. The argument is 
the same, in its degree, when applied to the Church ; she comes 
to us as a messenger from God, — how can a man who feels this, 
who comes to her, who falls at her feet as such, make a reserve, 
that he may be allowed to doubt her at some future day? Let 
he world cry out, if it will, that his reason is, in fetters; let it 
pronounce that he is a bigot, if he does not reserve his right of 
doubting ; but he knows full well himself that he would be an in- 
grate and a fool, if he did. Fetters, indeed ! yes, " the cords of 
Adam," the fetters of love, these are what bind him to the Holy 
Church ; he is, with the Apostle, the slave of Christ, the Church's 
Lord ; united, never to part, as he trusts, while life lasts, to her 
Sacraments, to her Sacrifices, to her Saints, to^the Blessed Mary 
her advocate, to Jesus, to God. 

The truth is, that the world, knowing nothing of the blessings 
of the Catholic faith, and prophesying nothing but ill concerning 
it, fancies that a convert, after the first fervor is over, feels nothing 
but disappointment, weariness, and offence in his new religion, 
and is secretly desirous of retracing his steps. This is at the root 
of the alarm and irritation which it manifests at hearing that doubts 
are incompatible with a Catholic's profession, because it is sure that 
doubts will come upon him, and then how pitiable will be his state 
That there can be peace, and joy, and knowledge, and freedom, 
and spiritual strength in the Church, is a thought far beyond its 
imagination ; for it regards her simply as a frightful conspiracy 
against the happiness of man, seducing her victims by specious 
proiessions, and, when once hers, caring nothing for the misery 
which breaks upon them, so that by any means she may detain 
them in bondage. Accordingly, it conceives we are in perpetual 
warfare with our own reason, fierce objections ever rising within 
us, and we forcibly repressing them. It believes that, after the 
likeness of a vessel which has met with some accident at sea, we 
are ever baling out the water which rushes in upon us, and have 
hard work to keep afloat ; we just manage to linger on, either by 
an unnatural strain on our minds, or by turning them away from 
the subject of religion. The world disbelieves our doctrines it« 
self, and cannot understand our own believing them. It con- 
siders them so strange, that it is quite sure, though we will not 



268 



Religious. — Catholicism. 



confess it, that we are haunted day and night with doubts, and 
tormented with the apprehension of yielding to them. I really 
do think it is the world's judgment, that one principal part of a 
confessor's work is the putting down such misgivings in his peni- 
tents. It fancies that the reason is ever rebelling, like the flesh ; 
that doubt, like concupiscence, is elicited by every sight and 
sound, and that temptation insinuates itself in every page of let- 
ter press, and through the very voice of a Protestant polemic. 
When it sees a Catholic Priest, it looks hard at him, to make out 
how much there is of folly in his composition, and how much of 
hypocrisy. But, my dear brethren, if these are your thoughts, 
you are simply in error. Trust me, rather than the world, when 
I tell you, that it is no difficult thing for a Catholic to believe ; 
and that unless he grievously mismanages himself, the difficult 
thing is for him to doubt. He has received a gift which makes 
faith easy ; it is not without an effort, a miserable effort, that any 
one who has received that gift, unlearns to believe. He does 
violence to his mind, not in exercising, but in withholding his 
faith. When objections occur to him, which they may easily do 
if he lives in the world, they are as odious and unwelcome to 
him as impure thoughts are to the virtuous. He does certainly 
shrink from them, he flings them away from him, but why? not 
in the first instance, because they are dangerous, but because 
they are cruel and base. His loving Lord has done everything 
for him, and has he deserved such a return? Popuh mens, quid 
feci tibi? " O My people, what have I done to thee, or in what 
have I molested thee? answer thou Me. I brought thee out of 
the land of Egypt, and delivered thee out of the house of slaves ; 
and I sent before thy face Moses, and Aaron, and Mary ; I fenced 
thee in, and planted thee with the choicest vines ; and what is 
there that I ought to do more to My vineyard that I have not 
done to it?" He has poured on us His grace, He has been with 
us in our perplexities, Fie has led us on from one truth to another, 
He has forgiven us our sins, He has satisfied our reason, He has 
made faith easy, He has given us His Saints, He shows before us 
day by day His own Passion ; why should I leave Him ? What 
has he ever done to e but good ? Why must I re-examine what 
I have examined once for all ? Why must I listen to every idle 
word which flits past me against Him, on pain of being called a 
bigot and a slave, when I should be behaving to the Most High, 



Faith in any than the Catholic Church Impossible, 269 



as 3 r ou yourselves, who so call me, would not behave towaids a 
human friend or benefactor? If I am convinced in my reason, 
and persuaded in my heart, why may I not be allowed to remain 
unmolested in my worship? (" Discourses to Mixed Congrega- 
tions," p. 216.) 



FAITH IN ANY OTHER RELIGIOUS BODY THAN THE 
CATHOLIC CHURCH IMPOSSIBLE. 

It is very evident that no other religious body has a right to 
demand such an exercise of faith in them, and a right to forbid 
you further enquiry, but the Catholic Church ; and for this simple 
reason, that no other body even claims to be infallible, let alone 
the proof of such a claim. Here is the defect at first starting, 
which disqualifies them, one and all, from ever competing with 
tne Church of God. The sects about us, so far from demanding 
your faith, actually call on you to enquire and to doubt freely 
about their own merits ; they protest that they are but voluntary 
associations, and would be sorry to be taken for anything else ; 
they beg and pray you not to mistake their preachers for anything 
more than mere sinful men, and they invite you to take the Bible 
with you to their sermons, and to judge for )^ourselves whether 
their doctrine is in accordance with it. Then, as to the Estab- 
lished Religion, grant that there are those in it who forbid en- 
quiry into its claims ; yet still dare they maintain that it is infalli- 
ble ? If they do not (and no one does), how can they forbid 
enquiry about it, or claim for it the absolute faith of any of its 
members? Faith under these circumstances is not really faith, 
tut obstinacy. Nor do they commonly venture to demand it ; 
they will say, negatively, " Do not enquire ;" but they cannot say- 
positively, "Have faith;" for in whom are their members to 
have faith ? of whom can they say, whether individual or collec- 
tion of men, " He or they are gifted with infallibility, and can- 
not mislead us?" Therefore, when pressed to explain ihem 
selves, they ground their duty of continuance in their commu- 
nion not on faith in it, but on attachment to it, which is a very 
different thing; utterly different, for there are very many reasons 



270 



Religious. — Catholicism. 



why they should feel a very great liking for the religion in which 
they have been brought up. Its portions of Catholic teaching, 
its " decency and order," the pure and beautiful English of its 
prayers, its literature, the piety found among its members, the 
influence of superiors and friends, its historical associations, its 
domestic character, the charm of a country life, the remembrance 
of-past years, — there is all this and much more to attach the mind 
to the national worship. But attachment is not trust, nor is to 
obey the same as to look up to, and to rely upon ; nor do I think 
that any thoughtful or educated man can simply believe or con- 
fide in the word of the Established Church. I never met any such 
person who did, or said he did, and I do not think that such a 
person is possible. Its defenders would believe if they could . 
but their highest confidence is qualified by a misgiving. They 
obey, they are silent before the voice of their superiors, but they 
do not profess to believe. Nothing is clearer than this, that if 
faith in God's word is required of us for salvation, the Catholic 
Church is the only medium by which we can exercise it. ( u Dis- 
courses to Mixed Congregations," p. 230.) 



DISPOSITIONS FOR JOINING THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 

No one should enter the Church without a firm purpose of tak- 
ing her word in all matters of doctrine and morals, and that on the 
ground of her coming directly from the God of Truth. If you 
do not come in this spirit, you may as well not come at all : high 
and low, learned and ignorant, must come to learn. If you are 
right as far as this, you cannot go very wrong ; you have the 
foundation ; but if you come in any other temper, you had better 
wait till you have got rid of it. You must come, I say, to the 
Church to learn ; you must come, not to bring your own notions 
to her, but with the intention of ever being a learner ; you must 
come with the intention of taking her for your portion and of 
never leaving her. Do not come as an experiment; do not 
come as you would take sittings in a chapel or tickets for a lec- 
ture-room ; come to her as to your home, to the school of your 
souls, to the Mother of Saints, and to the vestibule of heaven. 



Dispositions for Joining the Catholic Church, 271 



On the other hand, do not distress yourselves with thoughts 
whether, when you have joined her, your faith will last ; this is a 
suggestion of your Enemy to hold you back. He who has begun 
a good work in you, will perfect it ; He who has chosen you, 
will be faithful to you ; put your cause into His hand, wait upon 
Him, and you will surely persevere. What good work will you 
ever begin, if you bargain first to see the end of it? If you wish 
to do all at once, you will do nothing ; he has done half the work 
who has begun it well ; you will not gain your Lord's praise at 
ihe final reckoning by hiding His talent. No ; when he brings 
you from error to truth, He will have done the more difficult 
work (if aught is difficult to Him), and surely he will preserve 
you from returning from truth to error. Take the experience of 
those who have gone before you in the same course ; they had 
many fears that their faith would fail them, before taking the 
great step, but those fears vanished on their taking it ; they had 
fears, before the grace of faith, lest, after receiving it, they should 
lose it again, but no fears (except on the ground of their general 
frailness) after it was actually given. 

Be convinced in your reason that the Catholic Church is a 
teacher sent you from God, and it is enough. I do not wish you 
to join her till you are. If you are half convinced, pray for a full 
conviction, and wait till you have it. It is better, indeed, to come 
quickly, but better slowly than carelessly ; and sometimes, as 
the proverb goes, the more haste, the worse speed. Only make 
yourselves sure that the delay is not from any fault of yours 
which you can remedy. God deals with us very differently ; con- 
viction comes very slowly to some men, quickly to others ; in 
some it is the result of much thought and many reasonings, in 
others of a sudden illumination. One man is convinced at 
once, as in the instance described by St. Paul : " If all prophe- 
sy," he says, speaking of exposition of doctrine, " and there come 
in one that believeth not, or one unlearned, he is convinced of 
all, he is judged of all. The secrets of his heart are made mani- 
fest ; and so, falling down on his face, he will worship God, and 
say that God is among you of a truth." The case is the same 
now ; some men are converted merely by entering a Catholic 
Church ; others are converted by reading one book ; others by 
one doctrine. They feel the weight of their sins, and they see 
that that religion must come from God which alone has the 



Religious. — Catholicism. 



means of forgiving them. Or they are touched and overcome by 
the evident sanctity, beauty, and (as I may say) fragrance of the 
Catholic Religion. Or they long for a guide amid the strife of 
tongues ; and the very doctrine of the Church about faith, which 
is so hard to many, is conviction to them. Others, again, hear 
many objec tions to the Church, and follow out the whole subjeci 
far and wide ; conviction can scarcely come to them except as at 
the end of a long enquiry. As in a court of justice, one man's 
innocence may be proved at once, another's is the result of a care- 
ful investigation ; one has nothing in his conduct or character to 
explain, another has many presumptions against him at first 
sight ; so Holy Church presents herself very differently to dif- 
ferent minds who are contemplating her from without. God deals 
with them differently ; but, if they are faithful to their light, at 
last, in their own time, though it may be a different time to each, 
He brings them to that one and the same state of mind, very dif- 
ferent and not to be mistaken, which we call conviction. They 
will have no doubt, whatever difficulties may still attach to the 
subject, that the Church is from God ; they may not be able to 
answer this objection or that, but they will be certain in spite 
of it. 

This is a point which should ever be kept in view : conviction 
is a state of mind, and it is something beyond and distinct from 
the mere arguments of which it is the result ; it does not vary 
with their strength or their number. Arguments lead to a con- 
clusion, and when the arguments are stronger, the conclusion is 
clearer ; but conviction may be felt as strongly in consequence 
of a clear conclusion, as of one which is clearer. A man may be 
so sure upon six reasons, that he does not need a seventh, nor 
would feel surer if he had it. And so as regards the Catholic 
Church : men are convinced in very various ways, — what con- 
vinces one, does not convince another ; but this is an accident ; 
the time comes anyhow, sooner or later, w T hen a man ought to be 
convinced, and is convinced, and then he is bound not to wait 
for any more arguments, though more arguments be producible. 
He will find himself in a condition when he may even refuse to 
hear more arguments in behalf of the Church ; he does not wish 
to read or think more on the subject, his mind is quite made up. 
In such a case it is his duty to join the Church at once ; he must 
not delay ; let him be cautious in counsel, but prompt in execu- 



Catholicism or Scepticism ? 



273 



tion. This it is that makes Catholics so anxious about him : it 
is not that they wish him to be precipitate ; but knowing the 
.emptations which the evil one ever throws in our way, they are 
lovingly anxious for his soul, lest he has come to the point of 
conviction, and is passing it, and is losing his chance of conver- 
sion. If so, it may never return ; God has not chosen every one 
to salvation ; it is a rare gift to be a Catholic ; it may be offered 
to us once in our lives and never again ; and, if we have not 
seized on the " accepted time," nor known " in our day the things 
which are for our peace," oh, the misery for us ! . . Oh, the awful 
thought for all eternity ! oh, the remorseful sting, " I was called, 
I might have answered, and I did not i " And oh, the blessed- 
ness, if we can look back on the time of trial, when friends im- 
plored and enemies scoffed, and say, — The misery for me, which 
would have been, had I not followed on, had I hung back, when 
Christ called ! Oh, the utter confusion of mind, the wreck of 
faith and opinion, the blackness and void, the dreary scepticism, 
the hopelessness which would have been my lot, the pledge of the 
outer darkness to come had I been afraid to follow Him ! I have 
lost friends, I have lost the world, but I have gained Him, who 
gives in Himself houses and brethren and sisters and mothers 
and children and lands a hundred-fold ; I have lost the perish- 
able, and gained the Infinite ; I have lost time, and I have gained 
eternity. ("Discourses to Mixed Congregations," p. 232.) 



NO LOGICAL ALTERNATIVE BETWEEN CATHOLI- 
CISM AND SCEPTICISM. 

. . Turn away from the Catholic Church, and to whom will 
you go ? it is your only chance of peace and assurance in this tur- 
bulent, changing world. There is nothing between it and scep- 
ticism, when men exert their reason freely. Private creeds, fancy 
religions- may be showy and imposing to the many in their day ; 
rational religions may lie hug e and lifeless, and cumber the 
ground for centuries, and distract the attention or confuse the 
judgment of the learned ; but in the long run it will be found 
>hat either the Catholic Religion is verily and indeed the coming 



274 



ReTigious. — Catholicism. 



in of the unseen world into this, or that there is nothing positive 
nothing dogmatic, nothing real in any of our notions as to whence 
we come and whither we are going. Unlearn Catholicism, and 
you become Protestant, Unitarian, Deist, Pantheist, Sceptic, in 
a dreadful, but infallible succession, only not infallible, by some 
accident of your position, of your education, and of your cast of 
mind ; only not infallible, if you dismiss the subject of religion 
from your mind, deny yourself your reason, devote your thoughts to 
moral duties, or dissipate them in engagements with the world. 
Go, then, and do your duty to your neighbor, be just, be kindly- 
tempered, be hospitable, set a good example, uphold religion as 
good for society, pursue your business, or your profession, or 
your pleasure, eat and drink, read the news, visit your friends, 
build and furnish, plant and sow, buy and sell, plead and debate, 
work for the world, settle your children, go home and die, but 
eschew religious enquiry, if you will not have faith, nor hope that 
you can have faith, if you will not join the Church. 

Avoid, I say, enquiry else, for it will but lead you thither, 
where there is no light, no peace, no hope ; it will lead you to 
the deep pit, where the sun, and the moon, and the stars, and 
the beauteous heavens are not, but chilliness, and barrenness, and 
perpetual desolation. Oh, perverse children of men, who refuse 
truth when offered you, because it is not truer ! Oh, restless hearts 
and fastidious intellects, who seek a gospel more salutary than 
the Redeemer's, and a creation more perfect than the Creator's ! 
God, forsooth, is not great enough for you ; you have those 
high aspirations and those philosophical notions, inspired by the 
original Tempter, which are content with nothing that is, which 
determine that the Most High is too little for your worship, and 
His attributes too narrow for your love. Satan fell by pride ; and 
what was said of old as if of him, may surely now, by way of 
warning, be applied to all who copy him : — " Because thy heart is 
lifted up, and thou hast said, I am God, and I sit in the chair of 
God, . . whereas thou art a man and not God, and hast set thy 
heart as if it were the heart of God, therefore . . I will bring thee 
to nothing, and thou shalt not be, and if thou be sought for, thou 
shalt not be found any more for ever," (" Discourses to Mixed 
Congregations," p. 283.) 



A Convert. 



A CONVERT. 

A convert comes to learn, and not to pick and choose. Ha 
comes in simplicity and confidence, and it does not occur to him 
to weigh and measure every proceeding, every practice which he 
meets with among those whom he has joined. He comes to Ca- 
tholicism as to a living system, with a living teaching, and not tc 
a mere collection of decrees and canons, which by themselves 
are of course but the framework, not the body and substance of 
the Church. And this is a truth which concerns, which binds, 
those also who never knew any other religion, not only the 
convert. By the Catholic system, I mean that rule of life, and 
those practices of devotion, for which we shall look in vain in the 
Creed of Pope Pius. The convert comes, not only to believe 
the Church, but also to trust and obey her priests, and to con- 
form himself in charity to her people. It would never do for him 
to resolve that he never would say a Hail Mar}-, never avail him- 
self of an indulgence, never kiss a crucifix, never accept the 
Lent dispensations, never mention a venial sin in confession. All 
this would not only be unreal, but would be dangerous too, as 
arguing a wrong state of mind, which could not look to receive 
the divine blessing. Moreover, he comes to the ceremonial, and 
the moral theology, and the ecclesiastical regulations, which he 
finds on the spot where his lot is cast. And again, as regards 
matters of politics, of education, of general expedience, of taste, 
he does not criticise or controvert. And thus surrendering him- 
self to the influences of his new religion, and not risking the 
loss of revealed truth altogether by attempting by a private rule 
to discriminate every moment its substance from its accidents, ho 
is gradually indoctrinated in Catholicism. ("Anglican Difficul- 
ties," p. 370.) 



Religious. — Catholicism. 



FAITH AND DEVOTION. 

By " faith " I mean the Creed and assent to the Creed ; by " devo 
tion " I mean such religious honors as belong to the objects of our 
faith, and the payment of those honors. Faith and devotion are 
as distinct in fact, as they are in idea. We cannot, indeed, be de- 
vout without faith, but we may believe without feeling devotion. 
Of this phenomenon every one has experience both in himself and 
in others ; and we bear witness to it as often as we speak of real- 
izing a truth or not realizing it. It may be illustrated, with 
more or less exactness, by matters which come before us in the 
world. For instance, a great author, or public man, may be acknow- 
ledged as such for a course of years ; yet there may bean increase, an 
ebb and flow, and a fashion, in his popularity. And if he takes a 
lasting place in the minds of his countrymen, he may gradually 
grow into it, or suddenly be raised to it. The idea of Shakespeare 
as a great poet, has existed from a very early date in public opin- 
ion ; and there were at least individuals then who understood 
him as well, and honored him as much, as the English people 
can honor him now; yet, I think, there is a national devotion to 
him in this day such as never has been before. This has happened, 
because, as education spreads in the country, there are more men 
able to enter into his poetical genius, and, among these, more 
capacity again for deeply and critically understanding him ; and 
yet from the first, he has exerted a great insensible influence ovei 
the nation, as is seen in the circumstance that his phrases and sen- 
tences, more than can be numbered, have become almost pro- 
verbs among us. And so again in philosophy, and in the arts 
and sciences, great truths and principles have sometimes been 
known and acknowledged for a course of years ; but, whether from 
feebleness of intellectual power in the recipients, or external cir- 
cumstances of an accidental kind, they have not been turned to 
account. Thus the Chinese are said to have known of the pro- 
perties of the magnet from time immemorial, and to have used it for 
land expeditions, yet not on the sea. Again, the ancients knew 
of the principle that water finds its own level, but seem to have 
made little application of their knowledge. And Aristotle was 
familiar with the principle of induction ; yet it was left for Bacon 
to develop it into an experimental philosophy. Illustrations 
such as these, though not altogether apposite, serve to convey 



Faith %nd Devotion. 



277 



♦hat distinction between faith and devotion on which I am insist- 
ing. It is like the distinction between objective and subjective 
truth, The sun in the spring-time will have to shine many days 
before he is able to melt the frost, open the soil, and bring out 
the leaves ; yet he shines out from the first notwithstanding, 
chough he makes his power felt but gradually. It is one and the 
same sun, though his influence day by day becomes greater ; and 
so in the Catholic Church it is the one Virgin Mother, one and 
the same from first to last, and Catholics may have ever acknow- 
ledged her ; and yet, in spite of that acknowledgment, their de- 
votion to her may be scanty in one time and place, and overflow- 
ing in another. 

This distinction is forcibly brought home to a convert as a pe- 
culiarity of the Catholic Religion, on his first introduction to its 
worship. The faith is everywhere one and the same, but a large 
liberty is accorded to private judgment and inclination as regards 
matters of devotion. Any large church, with its collections and 
groups of people, will illustrate this. The fabric itself is dedicat 
ed to Almighty God, and that, under the invocation of the Bless- 
ed Virgin, or some particular Saint ; or again of some mystery 
belonging to the divine Name or the incarnation, or of some mys- 
tery associated with the Blessed Virgin. Perhaps there are seven 
altars or more in it, and these again have their several Saints. 
Then there is the Feast proper to rhe particular day ; and during 
the celebration of Mass. of all the worshippers who crowd around 
the Priest, each has his own particular devotions, with which he 
follows the rite. No one interferes with his neighbor; agreeing, 
as it were, to differ, they pursue independently a common end, and 
by paths distinct, but converging, present themselves before God. 
Then there are confraternities attached to the Church, — of the 
Sacred Heart, or of the Precious Blood ; associations of prayer 
for a good death, or for the repose of departed souls, or for the 
conversion of the heathen ; devotions connected with the brown, 
blue, or red scapular ; — not to speak of the great ordinary Ritual 
observed through the four seasons, or of the constant Presence 
of the Blessed Sacrament, or of its ever-recurring rite of Bene- 
diction, and its extraordinary forty hours' Exposition. Or, again, 
lock through such manuals of prayers as the Raccolta, and you 
at once will see both the number and the variety of devotions 
which are open to individual Catholics to choose from, accord- 



278 



Religious. — Catholicism. 



ing to their religious taste and prospect of personal edifica< 
tion. 

Now these diversified modes of honoring God did not come tc 
us in a day, or only from the Apostles ; they are accumula- 
tions of centuries ; and, as in the course of years some of them 
spring up, so others decline and die. Some are local, in memory 
of some particular Saint, who happens to be the Evangelist, 01 
Patron or pride of the nation, or who lies entombed in the church 
or in the city where it is found ; and these devotions, necessarily 
cannot have an earlier date than the Saint's day of death or inter- 
ment there. The first of these sacred observances, long before 
such national memories, were the devotions paid to the Apostles, 
then those which were paid to the Martyrs ; yet there were Saints 
nearer to our Lord than either Martyrs or Apostles ; but, as if 
these sacred persons were immersed and lost in the effulgence of 
His glory, and because they did not manifest themselves, when 
in the body, in external works separate from Him, it happened 
that for a long while they were less dwelt upon. However, in 
process of time, the Apostles, and then the Martyrs, exerted less 
influence than before over the popular mind, and the local Saints, 
new creations of God's power, took their place, or again, the 
Saints of some religious order here or there established. Then, 
as comparatively quiet times succeeded, the religious medita- 
tions of holy men and their secret intercourse with heaven gra- 
dually exerted an influence out of doors, and permeated the 
Christian populace, by the instrumentality of preaching and by 
the ceremonial of the Church. Hence at length these luminous 
stars rose in the ecclesiastical heavens, which were of more au- 
gust dignity than any which had preceded them, and were late in 
rising, for the very reason that they were so specially glorious. 
Those names, I say, which at first sight might have been expect- 
ed to enter soon into the devotions of the faithful, with better 
reason might have been looked for at a later date, and actually 
were late in their coming. St. Joseph furnishes the most striking 
instance of this remark ; here is the clearest of instances of the 
distinction between doctrine and devotion. Who, from his pre- 
rogatives and the testimony on which they come to us, had a 
greater claim to receive an early recognition among the faithful 
than he? A Saint of Scripture, the foster father of our Lord, he 
was an object of the universal and absolute faith of the Chris* 



Private Judgment among Catholics. 



tian world from the first, yet the devotion to him is comparatively 
of late date. When once it began, men seemed surprised that it 
had not been thought of before ; and now, they hold him next to 
the Blessed Virgin in their religious affection and veneration 
("Anglican Difficulties," p. 378.) 



PRIVATE JUDGMENT AMONG CATHOLICS. 

The very idea of the Catholic Church, as an instrument of su- 
pernatural grace, is that of an institution which innovates upon, 
or rather superadds to nature. She does something for nature 
above or beyond nature. When, then, it is said that she makes her 
members one, this implies that by nature they are not one, and 
would not become one. Viewed in themselves, the children of 
the Church are not of a different nature from the Protestants 
around them ; they are of the very same nature. What Protest- 
ants are, such would they be, but for the Church, which brings 
them together forcibly, though persuasively, " fortiter et suaviter," 
and binds them into one by her authority. Left to himself, each 
Catholic likes and would maintain his own opinion and his pri- 
vate judgment just as much as a Protestant ; and he has it, and 
he maintains it, just so far as the Church does not, by the autho- 
rity of Revelation, supersede it. The very moment the Church 
ceases to speak, at the very point at which she, that is, God who 
speaks by her, circumscribes her range of teaching, there private 
judgment of necessity starts up ; there is nothing to hinder it. 
The intellect of man is active and independent: he forms opin- 
ions about everything ; he feels no deference for another's opin- 
ion, except in proportion as he thinks that that other is more like- 
ly than he to be right ; and he never absolutely sacrifices his own 
opinion, except when he is sure that that other knows for ceWain. 
He is sure that God knows ; therefore, if he is a Catholic, he sacri- 
fices his opinion to the Word of God, speaking through His 
Church. But, from the nature of the case, there is nothing to 
hinder his having his own opinion, and expressing it, whenever, 
and so far as, the Church, the oracle of Revelation, does nol 
speak. 



28o 



Religious, — Catholicism. 



But again, human nature likes, not only its own opinion, but 
its own way, and will have it whenever it can, except when hin- 
dered by physical or moral restraint. So far fcth, then, as the 
Church does not compel her children to do one and the same 
thing (as, for instance, to abstain from work on Sunday, and from 
flesh on Friday), they will do different things ; and still more so, 
(vhen she actually allows or commissions them to act for them- 
selves, gives to certain persons or bodies privileges or immuni- 
ties, and recognizes them as centres of combination, under her 
authority, and within her pale. 

And further still, in all subjects and respects whatever, wheth- 
er in that range of opinion and of action which the Church has 
claimed to herself, and where she has superseded what is private 
and individual, or, on the other hand, in those larger regions of 
thought and of conduct, as to which she has not spoken, though 
she might speak, the natural tendency of the children of the 
Church, as men, is to resist her authority. Each mind naturally 
is self-willed, self-dependent, self- satisfied ; and, except so far as 
grace has subdued it, its first impulse is to rebel. Now this ten- 
dency, through the influence of grace, is not often exhibited in 
matters of faith ; for it would be incipient heresy, and would be 
contrary, if knowingly indulged, to the first element of Catholic 
duty ; but in matters of conduct, of ritual, of discipline, of poli- 
tics, of social life, in the ten thousand questions which the Church 
has not formally answered, even though she may have intimated 
her judgment, there is a constant rising of lhe human mind 
against the authority of the Church, and of superiors, and that in 
proportion as each individual is removed from perfection. For all 
these reasons, there ever has been, and ever will be, a vast exer- 
cise and a realized product, partly praiseworthy, partly barely 
!awful, of private judgment within the Catholic Church. The 
freedom of the human mind is " in possession" (as it is called), 
and it meddles with every question, and wanders over heaven and 
earth, except so far as the authority of the Divine Word, as a su- 
perincumbent weight, presses it down, and restrains it within 
Jmits. (*' Anglican Difficulties," p. 263.) 



The Aim of the Catholic Church. 



28! 



THE AIM OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 
(I.) 

Thk world believes in the world's ends as the greatest of goods; 
it wishes society to be governed simply and entirely for the sake 
of this world. Provided it could gain one little islet in the ocean, 
one foot upon the coast, if it could cheapen tea by sixpence a 
pound, or make its flag respected among the Esquimaux or Ota* 
heitans, at the cost of a hundred lives and a hundred souls, it 
would think it a very good bargain. What does it know of hell ? it 
disbelieves it ; it spits upon, it abominates, it curses its very 
name and notion. Next, as to the devil, it does not believe in 
him either. We next come to the flesh, and it "is free to confess" 
that it does not think there is any great harm in following the in- 
stincts of that nature which, perhaps it goes on to sav, God has 
given. How could it be otherwise ? who ever heard of the world 
lighting against the flesh and the devil ? Well, then, what is its 
notion of evil? Evil, says the world, is whatever is an offence to 
me, whatever obscures my majesty, whatever disturbs my peace. 
Order, tranquillity, popular contentment, plenty, prosperity, ad- 
vance in arts and sciences, literature, refinement, splendor, this 
is my millennium, or rather my elysium, my swerga ; I acknow- 
ledge no whole, no individuality, but my own ; the units which 
compose me are but parts of me ; they have no perfection in 
themselves ; no end but in me ; in my glory is their bliss, and in 
the hidings of my countenance they come to naught. 



(id 

Such is the philosophy and practice of the world — now the 
Church looks and moves in a simply opposite direction. It 
contemplates, not the whole, but the parts ; not a nation, but the 
men who form it ; not society in the first place, but in the second 
place, and in the first place individuals; it looks beyond the 
outward act, on and into the thought, the motive, the intention, 
and the will ; it looks beyond the world, and detects and moves 
against the devil, who is sitting in ambush behind it. It has, 
then, a foe in view, nay, it has a battle-field, to which the world 



282 



Religious. — Catholicism, 



is blind ; its proper battle-field is the heart of the individual, and 
its true foe is Satan. 

Do not think I am declaiming in the air, or translating the 
pages of some old worm-eaten homily ; I bear ray own testimony 
to what has been brought home to me most closely and vividly, 
as a matter of fact, since I have been a Catholic, viz., that that 
mighty world-wide Church, like her Divine Author, regards, 
consults for, labors for, the individual soul ; she looks at the 
souls for whom Christ died, and who are made over to her ; and 
her one object, for which everything is sacrificed — appearances, 
reputation, worldly triumph — is to acquit herself well of this 
most awful responsibility. Her one duty is to bring forward the 
elect to salvation, and to make them as many as she can : — to 
take offences out of their path, to warn them of sin, to rescue 
them from evil, to convert them, to teach them, to feed them, to 
protect them, and to perfect them. . . She overlooks everything 
in comparison of the immortal soul. Good and evil to her are 
not lights and shades passing over the surface of society, but 
living powers, springing from the depths of the heart. Actions, 
in her sight, are not mere outward deeds and words, committed 
by hand or tongue, and manifested in effects over a range of 
-influence wider or narrower, as the case may be ; but they are the 
thoughts, the desires, the purposes, of the solitary responsible 
spirit. She knows nothing of space or time, except as secondary 
to will ; she knows no evil but sin, and sin is a something per- 
sonal, conscious, voluntary. She knows no good but grace, and 
grace again is something personal, private, special, lodged in the 
soul of the individual. She has one and one only aim — to 
purify the heart ; she recollects who it is who has turned our 
thoughts from the external crime to the inward imagination ; who 
said, that 11 unless our justice abounded more than that of Scribes 
and Pharisees, we should not enter into the kingdom of Heaven ; " 
and that "out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, murders, adul- 
teries, fornications, thefts, false testimonies, blasphemies. These 
are the things that defile a man." 

Now I would have you take up the sermons of any preacher, 
or any writer on moral theology, who has a name among Catho- 
lics, and see if what I have said is not strictly fulfilled, however 
little you fancied so before you make trial. Protestants, I say, 
think that the Church aims at appearance and effect ; she must 



The Aim of the Catholic Church, 



be splendid, and majestic, and influential: fine services, music, 
lights, vestments ; and then, again, in her dealings with others, 
courtesy, smoothness, cunnings dexterity, intrigue, management — 
these, it seems, are the weapons of the Catholic Church. Well, 
she cannot help succeeding, she cannot help being strong, she 
cannot help being beautiful ; it is her gift ; as she moves, the 
many wonder and adore ; — " Et vera incessu patuit Dea." It 
cannot be otherwise, certainly ; but it is not her aim ; she goes 
forth on the one errand, as I have said, of healing the diseases of 
the soul. Look, I say, into any book of moral theology you will ; 
there is much there which may startle you : you will find princi- 
ples hard to digest: explanations which seem to you subtle: 
details which distress you ; you will find abundance of what will 
make excellent matter of attack at Exeter Hall ; but you will find 
from first to last this one idea — (nay, you will find that very 
matter of attack upon her is occasioned by her keeping it in view ; 
she would be saved the odium, she would not have thus bared 
her side to the sword, but for her fidelity to it) — the one idea, I 
say, that sin is the enemy of the soul; and that sin especially 
consists, not in overt acts, but in the thoughts of the heart. 

an.) 

This, then, is the point I insist upon. . . . The Church aims, 
not at making a show, but at doing a work. She regards this 
world, and all that is in it, as a mere shadow, as dust and ashes, 
compared with the value of one single soul. She holds that, 
unless she can, in her own way, do good to souls, it is no use her 
doing anything ; she holds that it were better for sun and moon 
to drop from heaven, for the earth to fail, and for all the man} 
millions who are upon it to die of starvation in extremest agony 
so far as temporal affliction goes, than that one soul, I will not 
say, should be lost, but should commit one single venial sin, 
should tell one wilful untruth, though it harmed no one, or steal 
one poor farthing without excuse. She considers the action of 
this world and the action of the soul simply incommensurate, 
viewed in their respective spheres ; she would rather save the 
soul of one single wild bandit of Calabria, or whining beggar of 
Palermo, than draw a hundred lines of railroad through the 



Religious. — Catholicism. 



length and breadth of Italy, or carry out a sanitary reform, in its 
fullest details, in every city of Sicily, except so far as these great 
national works tended to some spiritual good beyond them. 

Such is the Church, O ye men of the world, and now you know 
her. Such she is, such she will be ; and though she aims at your 
good, it is in her own way, — and if you oppose her, she defies 
you. She has her mission, and do it she will, whether she be in 
rags or in fine linen ; whether with awkward or with refined 
carriage ; whether by means of uncultivated intellects, or with the 
grace of accomplishments. Not that, in fact, she is not the source 
of numberless temporal and moral blessings to you also ; the 
history of ages testifies it ; but she makes no promises ; she is 
sent to seek the lost ; that is her first object, and she will fulfil it, 
whatever comes of it. . . 



(IV.) 

I may say the Church aims at three special virtues, as recon- 
ciling and uniting the soul to its Maker ; — faith, purity, and 
charity ; for two of which the world cares little or nothing. The 
world, on the other hand, puts in the foremost place, in some 
states of society, certain heroic qualities ; in others, certain virtues 
of a political or mercantile character. In ruder ages, it is 
personal courage, strength of purpose, magnanimity ; in more 
civilized, honesty, fairness, honor, truth, and benevolence : — 
virtues, all of which, of course, the teaching of the Church com 
prehends, all of which she expects in their degree in all her con- 
sistent children, and all of which she exacts in their fulness in 
her saints ; but which, after all, most beautiful as they are, 
admit of being the fruit of nature as well as of grace ; which 
do not necessarily imply grace at all ; which do not reach 
so far as to sanctity, or unite the soul by any supernatural 
procesi to the source of supernatural perfection and supernatural 
blessedness. Again, as I have already said, the Church contem- 
plates virtue and vice in their first elements, as conceived and 
existing in thought, desire, and will, and holds that the one or the 
other may be as complete and mature, without passing forth from 
the home of the secret heart, as if it had ranged forth in profession 
and in deed all over the earth. Thus, at first sight, she seems to 



The Aim of the Catholic Church. 285 



ignore bodies politic, and society, and temporal interests : whereas 
the world, on the contrary, talks of religion as being a matter of 
such private concern, so personal, so sacred, that it has no opinion 
at all about it : it praises public men, if they are useful to itself, 
but simply ridicules enquiry into their motives, thinks it imper- 
tinent in others to attempt it, and out of taste in themselves to 
sanction it. All public men it considers to be pretty much the 
same at bottom ; but what matter is that to it, if they do its work ? 
It offers high pay, and it expects faithful service; but, as to its 
agents, overseers, men of business, operatives, journeymen, 
figure-servants, and laborers, what they are personally, what are 
their principles and aims, what their creed, what their conversa- 
tion ; where they live, how they spend their leisure time, whither 
they are going, how they die — I am stating a simple matter of 
fact, I am not here praising or blaming, I am but contrasting, — I 
say, all questions implying the existence of the soul, are as much 
beyond the circuit of the world's imagination, as they are inti- 
mately and primarily present to the apprehension of the Church. 

The Church, then, considers the momentary, fleeting act of the 
will, in the three subject matters I have mentioned, to be capable 
of guiltiness of the deadliest character, or of the most efficacious 
and triumphant merit. Moreover, she holds that a soul laden 
with the most enormous offences, in deed as well as thought, a 
savage tyrant, who delighted in cruelty, an habitual adulterer, a 
murderer, a blasphemer, who has scoffed at religion through a 
long life, and corrupted every soul which he could bring within 
his influence, who has loathed the Sacred Name, and cursed his 
Saviour, — that such a man can under circumstances, in a moment, 
by one thought of the heart, by one true act oi contrition, leconcile 
himself to Almighty God (through his secret grace), without Sacra- 
ment, without priest, and be as clean, and fair, and lovely as if he had 
never sinned. Again, she considers that in a moment also, with eyes 
shut and arms folded, a man may cut himself off from the 
Almighty by a deliberate act of the will, and cast himself into 
perdition. With the world it is the reverse ; a member of society 
may go as near the line of evil, as the world draws it, as he will ; 
bur, till he has passed it, he is safe. Again, when he has once 
tra lsgressed it, recovery is impossible ; let honor of man or 
woman Le sullied, and to restore its splendor is simply to undo 
thfe p&st ; it is impossible. 



286 



Religious. — Catholicism, 



Such being the extreme difference between the Church and the 
world, both as to the measure and the scale of moral good and 
evil, we may be prepared for those vast differences in matters of 
detail, which I hardly like to mention, lest they should be out of 
keeping with the gravity of the subject, as contemplated in its 
broad principle. For instance, the Church pronounces the 
momentary wish, if conscious and deliberate, that another should 
be struck down dead, or surfer any other grievous misfortune, as 
a blacker sin than a passionate, unpremeditated attempt on the 
life of the Sovereign. She considers direct unequivocal consent, 
though as quick as thought, to a single unchaste desire, as 
indefinitely more heinous than any lie which can possibly be 
fancied, that is, when that lie is viewed, of course, in itself, and 
apart from its causes, motives, and consequences. Take a mere 
beggar-woman, lazy, ragged, and filthy, and not over-scrupulous 
of truth — (I do not say she had arrived at perfection) — but if she 
is chaste, and sober, and cheerful, and goes to her religious duties 
(and I am supposing not at all an impossible case), she will, in 
the eyes of the Church, have a prospect of heaven, which is quite 
closed and refused to the State's pattern-man, the just, the 
upright, the generous, the honorable, the' conscientious, if he be 
all this, not from a supernatural power — (I do not determine 
whether this is likely to be the fact, but I am contrasting views 
and principles) — not from a supernatural power, but from mere 
natural virtue. Polished, delicate-minded ladies, with little of 
temptation around them, and no self-denial to practise, in spite 
of their refinement and taste, if they be nothing more, are objects 
of less interest to her, than many a poor outcast who sins, repents, 
and is with difficulty kept just within the territory of grace. Again, 
excess in drinking is one of the world's most disgraceful offences ; 
odious it ever is in the eyes of the Qhurch, but if it does not pro- 
ceed to the loss of reason, she thinks it a far less sin than one 
deliberate act of detraction, though the matter of it be truth. And 
again, not unfrequently does a priest hear a confession of thefts, 
which he knows would sentence the penitent to transportation, if 
brought into a court of justice, but which he knows, too, in the 
judgment of the Church, might be pardoned on the man's private 
contrition, without any confession at all. Once more, the State 
has the guardianship of property, as the Church is the guardian 
of the faith : — in the middle ages, as is often objected, the Church 



The Aim of the Catholic Church. 



287 



put to death for heresy ; well but, on the other hand, even in oui 
own times, the State has put to death for forger)', nay, I suppose 
for sheep-stealing. How distinct must be the measure of crime 
in Church and in State, when so heterogeneous is the rule oi 
punishment in the one and in the other ! 

You may think it impolitic in me thus candidly to state what 
may be so strange in the eyes of the world ; — but not so, just the 
rontrary. The world already knows quite enough of our differ- 
ence of judgment from it on the whole ; it knows that difference 
also in its results ; but it does not know that it is based on 
principle ; it taunts the Church with that difference, as if nothing 
could be said for her, — as if it were not, as it is, a mere question 
of a balance of evils, — as if the Church had nothing to show for 
herself, were simply ashamed of her evident helplessness, and 
pleaded guilty to the charge of her inferiority to the world in the 
moral effects of her teaching. The world points to the children 
of the Church, and asks if she acknowledges them as her own. 
It dreams not that this contrast arises out of a difference of 
principle, and that she claims to act upon a principle higher than 
the world's. Principle is always respectable ; even a bad man is 
more respected, though he may be more hated, if he owns and 
justifies his actions, than if he is wicked by accident ; now the 
Church professes to judge after the judgment of the Almighty ; 
and it cannot be imprudent or impolitical to bring this out clearly 
and boldly. His judgment is not as man's : " I judge not accord- 
ing to the look of man," He says, " for man seeth those things 
which appear, but the Lord beholdeth the heart." The Church 
aims at realities, the world at decencies ; she dispenses with a 
complete work, so she can but make a thorough one. Provided 
she can do for the soul what is necessary, if she can but pull the 
brands out of the burning, if she can but extract the poisonous 
root which is the death of the soul, and expel the disease, she is 
content, though she leaves in it lesser maladies, little as she 
sympathizes with them. (" Anglican Difficulties," p. 206.) 



s88 



Religious. — Catholicism. 



THE RELIGION OF CATHOLICS. 

The energetic, direct apprehension of an unseen Lord and 
Saviour has not been peculiar to Prophets and Apostles ; it has 
been the habit of His Holy Church and of her children, down to 
this day. Age passes after age, and she varies her discipline, and 
she adds to her devotions, and all with the one purpose of fixing 
her own and their gaze more fully upon the person of her unseen 
Lord. She has adoringly surveyed Him, feature by feature, and 
has paid a separate homage to Him in every one. She has made 
us honor His Five Wounds, His Precious B ood, and His Sacred 
Heart. She has bid us meditate on His infancy, and the acts of 
His ministry ; His agony, His scourging, and His crucifixion. 
She has sent us on a pilgrimage to His birthplace and His 
sepulchre, and the mount of His ascension. She has sought out 
and placed before us, the memorials of His life and death ; His 
crib and holy house, His holy tunic, the handkerchief of St. 
Veronica, the cross and its nails, His winding-sheet, and the 
napkin for His head. 

And so, again, if the Church has exalted Mary or Joseph, it 
has been with a view to the glory of His sacred humanity. If 
Mary is proclaimed as immaculate, it illustrates the doctrine of 
her Maternity. If she is called the Mother of God, it is to remind 
Him that, though he is out of sight, He, nevertheless/is our pos- 
session, for He is of the race of man. If she is painted with Him 
in her arms, it is because we will not suffer the Object of our love 
to cease to be human, because He is also divine. If she is the 
Mater Dolorosa, it is because she stands by His cross. If she is 
Maria Desolata, it is because His dead body is on her lap. If, 
again, she is the Coronata, the crown is set upon her head by His 
dear hand. And, in like manner, if we are devout to Joseph, it is 
as to His foster-father; and if he is the saint of happy death, it is 
because he dies in the hands of Jesus and Mary. 

And what the Church urges on us down to this day saints and 
holy men down to this day have exemplified. Is it necessary to 
refer to the lives of the Holy Virgins, who were and are His very 
spouses, wedded to Him by a mystical marriage, and in many in- 
stances visited here by the earnests of that ineffable celestial bene- 
diction which is in heaven their everlasting portion? The mar- 



The Religion of Catholics. 



289 



tyrs, the confessors of the Church, bishops, evangelists, doctors, 
preachers, monks, hermits, ascetical teachers, — have they not, one 
and all, as their histories show, lived on the very name of Jesus, 
as food, as medicine, as fragrance, as light, as life from the dead ? 
— as one of them says, " in aure dulce canticum, in ore mel miri- 
ficum, in corde nectar ccelicum." 

Nor is it necessary to be a saint thus to feel : this intimate, im* 
mediate dependence on Emmanuel, God with us, has been in all 
ages the characteristic, almost the definition, of a Christian. It is 
the ordinary feeling of Catholic populations ; it is the elementary 
feeling of every one who has but a common hope of heaven , I re- 
collect, years ago, hearing an acquaintance, not a Catholic, speak 
of a work of devotion, written as Catholics usually write, with 
wonder and perplexity, because (he said) the author wrote as if he 
had "a sort of personal attachment to our Lord ;" "it was as if 
he had seen Him, known Him, lived with Him, instead of merely 
professing and believing the great doctrine of the Atonement." It 
is this same phenomenon which strikes those who are not Catho- 
lics, when they enter our churches. They themselves are accus- 
tomed to do religious acts simply as a duty ; they are serious at 
prayer time, and behave with decency, because it is a duty. But 
you know, my brethren, mere duty, a sense of propriety, and good 
behavior, these are not the ruling principles present in the minds 
of our worshippers. Wherefore, on the contrary, those sponta- 
neous postures of devotion ? why those unstudied gestures ? why 
those abstracted countenances? why that heedlessness of the pre- 
sence of others? why that absence of the shamefacedness which is 
so sovereign among professors of other creeds? The spectator 
sees the effect ; he cannot understand the cause of it. Wky\s this 
simple earnestness of worship ? whave no difficulty in answering. 
It is because the Incarnate Saviour is present in the tabernacle ; 
and then, when suddenly the hitherto silent church is, as it were, 
illuminated with the full piercing burst of voices from the whole 
congregation, it is because He now has gone up upon His throne 
over the altar, there to be adored. It is the visible Sign of the 
Son of Man which thrills through the congregation, and makes 
Jiem overflow with jubilation. (" Occasional Sermons," p. 40.) 



Religious. — Catholicism. 



THE PRIVILEGES OF CATHOLICS. 

Oh, my dear brethren, what joy and what thankfulness should 
be ours, that God has brought us into the Church of His Son ! 
What gift is equal to it in the whole world, in its preciousness, and 
in its rarity? In this country in particular, where heresy ranges 
far and wide, where uncultivated nature has so undisputed a field 
all her own, where grace is given to such numbers only to be pro- 
faned and quenched, where baptisms only remain in their impress 
and character, and faith is ridiculed for its very firmness, for us to 
find ourselves here, in the region of light, in the home of peace, in 
the presence of Saints, to find ourselves where we can use every 
faculty of the mind, and aflection of the heart, in its perfection, 
because in its appointed place and office, to find ourselves in the 
possession of certainty, consistency, stability, on the highest and 
holiest subjects of human thought, to have hope here, and heaven 
hereafter, to be on the Mount of Christ, while the poor world is 
guessing and quarrelling at its foot, — who among us shall not 
wonder at his own blessedness, who shall not be awe-struck at 
the inscrutable grace of God, which has brought him, not others, 
where he stands? As the Apostle says, "Through our Lord 
Jesus Christ we have, through faith, access into this grace where- 
in we stand, and glory in the hope of the glory of the sons of God. 
And hope confoundeth not; because the charity of God is poured 
out into our hearts by the Holy Ghost who is given to us." And 
as St. John says, still more exactly to our purpose, " Ye have 
an unction from the Holy One;" your eyes are anointed by 
Him who put clay on the eyes of the blind man ; "from Him 
have you an unction, and ye know," not conjecture, or suppose, 
or opine, but 11 know," see, "all things." "So let the unction 
which you have received of Him abide in you. Nor need ye that 
any one teach you, but as His unction teaches you of all things, 
and is true, and no lie, and hath taughtyou, so abide in Him." You 
can abide in nothing else ; opinions change, conclusions are 
feeble, enquiries run their course, reason stops short, but faith 
alone reaches to the end, faith only endures. Faith and prayer 
alone will endure in that last dark hour, when Satan urges all his 
powers and resources against the sinking soul. What will it 



Integrity of Catholic Doctrine. 



291 



avail* us, then, to have devised some subtle argument, or to have 
led some brilliant attack, or to have mapped out the field of his- 
tory, or to have numbered and sorted the weapons of controversy, 
and to have the homage of friends and the respect of the world 
for our successes, — what will it avail to have had a position, to 
have followed out a work, to have reanimated an idea, to have 
made a cause to triumph, if after all, we have not the light of faith 
to guide us on from this world to the next ? Oh, how fain shall 
we be in that day to exchange our place with the humblest, and 
dullest, and most ignorant of the sons of men, rather than to 
stand before the judgment-seat in the lot of him who has received 
great gifts from God, and used them for self and for man, who has 
shut his eyes, who has trifled with truth, who has repressed his 
misgivings, who has been led on by God's grace, but stopped short 
of its scope, who has neared the land of promise, yet not gone 
forward to take possession of it! (" Discourses to Mixed Con- 
gregations," p. 190.) 



INTEGRITY OF CATHOLIC DOCTRINE. 

The Catholic doctrines . . are members of one family, and sug- 
gestive, or correlative, or confirmatory, or illustrative of each 
other. In other words, one furnishes evidence to another, and 
all to each of them ; if this is proved, that becomes probable ; if 
this and that are both probable, but for different reasons, each adds 
to the other its own probability. The Incarnation is the antece- 
dent of the doctrine of Mediation, and the archetype both of the 
Sacramental principle, and of the merits of Saints. From the doc- 
trine of Mediation follow the Atonement, the Mass, the merits of 
Martyrs and Saints, their invocation and cultus. From the Sacra- 
mental principle come the Sacraments properlv so called, th« 

*Tc mans et terrse, numeroque carentis arenae 

Mensorem cohibeitf Archyta, 
Pulveris exigui prope Uttus parva Matinum, 

Munera ; nec quicquam tibi prodest 
Aerias tentasse domos, animoque rotundum 

Percurrisse polum, morituro ! 



292 



Religions, — Catholicism. 



unity of the Church, and the Holy See as its type smd centre ; the 
authority of Councils ; the sanctity of rites ; the veneration of holy 
places, shrines, images, vessels, furniture, and vestments. Of the 
Sacraments, Baptism is developed into Confirmation on the one 
hand, into Penance, Purgatory, and Indulgences, on the other ; 
and the Eucharist into the Real Presence, adoration of the Host, 
Resurrection of the Body, and the virtue of Relics. Again, the 
doctrine of the Sacraments leads to the doctrine of Justification ; 
Justification to that of Original Sin ; Original Sin to the merit of 
Celibacy. Nor do these separate developments stand indepen- 
dent of each other, but by cross relations they are connected, and 
grow together while they grow from one. The Mass and Real 
Presence are parts of one ; the veneration of Saints and their Re- 
lics are parts of one ; their intercessory power, and the Purgato- 
rial State, and, again, the Mass and that State are correlative ; 
Celibacy is the characteristic mark of Monachism and the Priest- 
hood. You must accept the whole, or reject the whole ; reduc- 
tion does but enfeeble, and amputation mutilate. It is trifling to 
receive all but something which is as integral as any other por- 
tion ; and, on the other hand, it is a solemn thing to receive any 
part, for, before you know where you are, you may be carried by 
a stern logical necessity to accept the whole. (" Essay on De 
velopment," p. 154.) 



TRANSUBSTA NTI ATION. 

People say that the doctrine of Transubstantiation is difficult 
to believe ; I did not believe the doctrine till I was a Catholic. I 
had no difficulty in believing it, as soon as I believed that the Ca- 
tholic Roman Church was the oracle of God, and that she had de- 
clared this doctrine to be part of the original revelation. It is dif- 
ficult, impossible to imagine, I grant: — but how is it difficult to 
believe? Yet Macaulay thought it so difficult to believe that he 
had need of a believer in it, of talents as eminent as Sir Thomas 
More, before he could bring himself to conceive that the Catho- 
lics of an enlightened age could resist the overwhelming force of 
the argument against it. " Sir Thomas More," he says, " i* one 



Mass. 



2 93 



of the choice specimens of wisdom and virtue ; and the doctrine 
of Transubstantiation is a kind of proof charge. A faith which 
stands that test, will stand any test." But, for myself, I cannot in- 
deed prove it. I cannot tell how it is ; but I say, " Why should it 
not be? What's to hinder it? What do I know of substance or 
matter? Just as much as the greatest philosophers, and that is 
nothing at all " So much is this the case, that there is a rising 
school of philosophy now, which considers phenomena to consti- 
tute the whole of our knowledge in physics. The Catholic doc- 
trine leaves phenomena alone. It does not say that the phenome- 
na go ; on the contrary, it says that they remain ; nor does it say 
the same phenomena are in several places at once. It deals with 
what no one on earth knows anything about: the material sub- 
stances themselves. And, in like manner, of that majestic article 
of the Anglican as well as of the Catholic Creed, — the doctrine 
of the Trinity in Unity. What do I know of the Essence of the 
Divine Being? I know that my abstract idea of three is simply 
incompatible with my idea of one ; but when I come to the ques- 
tion of concrete fact, I have no means of proving that there is not 
a sense in which one and three can equally be predicated of the 
Incommunicable God. ("Apologia,'" p. 239. 



MASS. 

To me nothing is so consoling, so piercing, so thrilling, so 
overcoming, as the Mass, said as it is among us. I could attend 
Masses for ever, and not be tired. It is not a mere form of 
words — it is a great action, the greatest action that can be on 
earth. It is, not the invocation merely, but. if I dare use the 
word, the evocation of the Eternal. He becomes present on the 
altar in flesh and blood, before whom angels bow and devils trem- 
ble. This is that awful event which is the scope, and the inter- 
pretation, of every part of the solemnity. Words are necessary, 
but as means, not as ends; they are not mere addresses to the 
throne of grace, they are instruments of what is far higher, of con- 
secration, of sacrifice. They hurry on, as if impatient to fulfil 
their mission. Quickly they go, the whole is quick, for they are 



294 



Religious. — Catholicism. 



all parts of one integral action. Quickly they go, for they are aw- 
ful words of sacrifice, they are a work too great to delay upon, as 
when it was said in the beginning, "What thou doest, do quickly." 
Quickly they pass, for the Lord Jesus goes with them, as He 
passed along the lake in the days of his flesh, quickly calling first 
one and then another ; quickly they pass, because as the light- 
ning which shineth from one part of the heaven unto the other, so 
is the coming of the Son of Man. Quickly they pass, for they are 
as the words of Moses, when the Lord came down in the cloud, 
calling on the Name of the Lord as he passed by, " The Lord, the 
Lord God, merciful and gracious, long suffering, and abundant in 
goodness and truth." And as Moses on the mountain, so we too 
" make haste and bow our heads to the earth, and adore." So we, 
all around, each in his place, look out for the great Advent, 
" waiting for the moving of the water," each in his place, with his 
own heart, with his own wants, with his own thoughts, with his 
own intentions, with his own prayers, separate but concordant, 
watching what is going on, watching its progress, uniting in its 
consummation ; not painfully and hopelessly, following a hard 
form of prayer from beginning to end, but, like a concert of musi- 
cal instruments, each different, but concurring in a sweet harmo- 
ny, we take our part with God's priest, supportinghim, yet guided 
by him. There are little children there, and old men, and simple 
laborers, and students in seminaries, priests preparing for Mass, 
priests making their thanksgiving, there are innocent maidens, 
and there are penitent sinners ; but out of these many minds rises 
one Eucharistic hymn, and the great action is the measure and the 
scope of it. (" Loss and Gain," p. 290.) 



BENEDICTION. 

The Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament is one of the sim- 
plest rites of the Church. The Priests enter and kneel down \ 
one of them unlocks the Tabernacle, takes out the Blessed Sa- 
crament, inserts it upright in a Monstrance of precious metal, 
and sets it in a conspicuous place above the altar, in the midst 
of lights, for all to see. The people then begin to sing; mean- 



Confession, 



2 95 



while the Priest twice offers incense to the King of heaven, 
before whom he is kneeling. Then he takes the Monstrance in 
his hands, and turning to the people blesses them with the Most 
Holy, in the form of a cross, while the bell is sounded by one of 
the attendants to call attention to the ceremony. It is our Lord's 
solemn benediction of His people, as when He lifted up his hands 
over the children, or when He blessed His chosen ones when He 
ascended up from Mount Olivet. As sons might come before a 
parent before going to bed at night, so, once or twice a week, 
the great Catholic family comes before the eternal Father, after 
the bustle or toil of the day, ard He smiles upon them, and 
sheds upon them the light of His countenance. It is a full 
accomplishment of what the Priest invoked upon the Israelites, 
" The Lord bless thee and keep thee ; the Lord show His face to 
thee, and have mercy on thee ; the Lord turn His countenance 
to thee and give thee peace." Can there be a more touching 
rite, even in the judgment of those who do not believe in it? 
How many a man, not a Catholic, is moved, on seeing it, to 
say, "Oh, that I did but believe it. 1 " when he sees the Priest 
take up the Fount of Mercy, and the people bent low in ado- 
ration ! 

It is one of the most beautiful, natural, and soothing actions 
of the Church. (Present Position of Catholics, p. 255.) 



CONFESSION. 

How many are the souls in distress, anxiety, or loneliness, whose 
one need is to find a being to whom they can pour out their 
feelings unheard by the world? Tell them out they must ; they 
cannot tell them out to those whom they see every hour. They 
want to tell them and not to tell them ; and they want to tell 
them out, yet be as if they be not told ; they wish to tell them 
to one who is strong enough to bear them, yet not too strong 
to despise them ; they wish to tell them to one who can at once 
advise and can sympathize with them ; they wish to relieve them- 
selves of a load, to gain a solace, to receive the assurance that 
there is one who thinks of them, and one to whom in thought 



296 



Religious. — Catholicism. 



they can recur, to whom the}' can betake themselves, if neces- 
sary, from time to time, while they are in the world. How 
many a Protestant's heart would leap at the news of such a 
benefit, putting aside all distinct ideas of a sacramental ordi- 
nance, or of a grant of pardon and the conveyance of grace ! If 
there is a heavenly idea in the Catholic Church, looking at it 
simply as an idea, surely, next after the Blessed Sacrament, Con- 
fession is such. And such is it ever found in fact, — the very act 
of kneeling, the low and contrite voice, the sign of the cross 
hanging, so to say, over the head bowed low, and the words of 
peace and blessing. Oh, what a soothing charm is there, which 
the world can neither give nor take away ! Oh, what piercing, 
heart-subduing tranquillity, provoking tears of joy, is poured al- 
most substantially and physically upon the soul, the oil of glad- 
ness, as Scripture calls it, when the penitent at length rises, his 
God reconciled to him, his sins rolled away for ever ! This is 
Confession as it is in fact. (Present Position of Catholics, p. 
351.) 



COUNSELS OF PERFECTION. 

The world judges of God's condescension as it judges of His 
bounty. We know from Scripture that the " teaching of the 
cross " was in the beginning u foolishness " to it ; grave, thinking 
men scoffed at it as impossible, that God, who was so high, should 
humble Himself so low, and that One who died a malefactor's 
death should be worshipped on the very instrument of His execu- 
tion. Voluntary* humiliation they did not understand then, nor 
do they now. They do not, indeed, express their repugnance to 
the doctrine so openly now, because what is called public opinion 

* ["If an instance can be imagined of voluntary suffering, it is the mission and 
death, of our Lord. He came to die, when He need not have died ; He died to 
satisfy for what might have been pardoned without satisfaction ; He paid a price 
which need not have been asked, nay, which needed not to be accepted when paid ; 
. . He died, not in order to exert a peremptory ~laim on the divine justice, if I 
may so speak — as if He were bargaining in the market-place . . — but in a more 
loving, generous, munificent way." "Discourses to Mixed Congregation " p. 
2©7 -1 



Counsels of Perfection. 



does not allow them ; but you see what they really think of Christ, 
by the tone which they adopt towards those who in their measure 
follow Him. Those who are partakers of His fulness are called 
on, according as the gift is given them, whether by His ordinary 
suggestion, or by particular inspiration, to imitate His pattern ; 
they are carried on to the sacrifice of self, and thus they come 
into collision with the maxims of the world. A voluntary or gra- 
tuitous mortification, in one shape or another, voluntary chastity, 
voluntary poverty, voluntary obedience, vows of perfection, all 
this is the very point of contest between the world and the Church, 
the world hating it, and the Church counselling it. " Why can- 
not they stop with me?" says the world ; " why will the} r give up 
their station or position, when it is certain they might be saved 
where they are ? Here is a lady of birth ; she might be useful at 
home, she might marry well, she might be an ornament to so- 
ciety, she might give her countenance to religious objects, and 
she has perversely left us all ; she has cut off her hair, and put 
on a coarse garment, and is washing the feet of the poor. There 
is a man of name and ability, who has thrown himself out of his 
sphere of influence, and he lives in a small room, in a place where 
no one knows who he is, and he is teaching little children theii 
catechism." The world is touched with pity, and shame, and in- 
dignation, at the sight, and moralizes over persons who act so un- 
worthily of their birth or education, and are so cruel towards 
themselves. And, worse still, here is a Saint, and what must he 
do but practise eccentricities ?— as, indeed, they would be in 
others, though in him they are but the necessary antagonists to 
the temptations which otherwise would come on him from the 
"greatness of the revelations/' or are but tokens of the love with 
which he embraces the feet of his Redeemer. And here again is 
another, and she submits her flesh to penances shocking to think 
of, and wearies herself out in the search after misery, and all 
from some notion that she is assimilating her condition to the 
voluntary self-abasement of the Word. Alas, for the world ! 
which is simply forgetful that God is great in all He does, great 
in His sufferings, and that He makes Saints and holy men in 
their degree partakers of that greatness. (" Discourses to Mixed 
Congregations," p. 313.) 



298 



Religious. — Catholicism. 



RELICS AND MIRACLES. 
(I.) 

I suppose there is nothing which prejudices us more in tb« 
minds of Protestants of all classes than our belief in the miracles 
wrought by the relics and the prayers of the Saints. They inspect 
our churches, or they attend to our devotions, or they hear our 
sermons, or they open our books, or they read paragraphs in the 
newspapers, and it is one and the same story — relics and mira- 
cles. Such a belief, such a claim, they consider a self-evident 
absurdity ; they are too indignant even to laugh ; they toss the 
book from them in the fulness of anger and contempt, and they 
think it superfluous to make one remark in order to convict us 
of audacious imposture, and to fix upon us the brand of indelible 
shame. I shall show, then, that this strong feeling arises simply 
from their assumption of a First Principle, which ought to be 
proved, if they would be honest reasoners, before it is used to 
our disadvantage. 

You observe, we are now upon a certain question of contro- 
versy, in which the argument is not directly about fact. . . We 
accuse our enemies of untruth in most cases ; we do not accuse 
them, on the whole, of untruth here. I know it is very difficult 
for prejudice such as theirs to open its mouth at all without some 
misstatement or exaggeration ; still, on the whole, they do bear 
true, not false witness, in the matter of miracles. We do certain- 
ly abound, we are exuberant, we overflow, with stories which 
cause our enemies, from no fault of ours, the keenest irritation, 
and kindle in them the most lively resentment against us. Cer- 
tainly the Catholic Church, from east to west, from north to south, 
is, according to our conceptions, hung with miracles. The store 
of relics is inexhaustible ; they are multiplied through all lands, 
and each particle of each has in it at least a dormant, perhaps an 
energetic virtue, of supernatural operation. * At Rome there is 

* [The following verses, written eighteen years before this passage, may, perhaps, 
be fitly in^redvs;ed here : — 

RELICS OF SAINTS. 
The Fathers are in dust, yet live to Qod : 
So says the Truth • as if the motionless clay 



Relics and Miracles. 



299 



the true cross, the crib of Bethlehem, and the chair of St. Peter ; 
portions of the crown of thorns are kept at Paris ; the holy coat 
is shown at Treves ; the winding-sheet at Turin ; at Monza, the 
iron crown is formed out of a Nail of the Cross ; and another 
Nail is claimed for the Duomo of Milan ; and pieces of our Lady's 
habit are to be seen in the Escurial. The Agnus Dei, blessed 
medals, the scapular, the cord of St. Francis, all are the medium 
of Divine manifestations and graces. Crucifixes have bowed the 
head to the suppliant, and Madonnas have bent their eyes upon 
assembled crowds. St. Januarius's blood liquefies periodically 
at Naples, and St. Winifred's well is the scene of wonders even in 
our unbelieving country. Women are marked with the sacred 
stigmata, blood has flowed on Fridays from their five wounds, 
and their heads are crowned with a circle of lacerations. Relics 
are ever touching the sick, the diseased, the wounded ; some- 
times with no result at all, at other times with marked and 
undeniable efficacy. Who has not heard of the abundant favors 
gained by the intercession of the Blessed Virgin, and of the mar- 
vellous consequences which have attended the invocation of St. 
Antony of Padua? The phenomena are sometimes reported of 
Saints in their lifetime, as well as after their death, especially if 
they were evangelists or martyrs. The wild beasts crouched be- 
fore their victims in the Roman amphitheatre ; the axe-man was 
unable to sever St. Cecilia's head from her body; and St. Peter 
elicited a spring of water for his jailer's baptism in the Mamer- 
tine. St. Francis Xavier turned salt water into fresh for five 
hundred travellers ; St. Raymond was transported over the sea 
on his cloak ; St. Andrew shone brightly in the dark ; St. Scho- 
lastica gained by her prayers a pouring rain ; St. Paul was fed by 
ravens ; and St. Frances saw her guardian Angel. I need not 
continue the catalogue ; here one party urges, the other admits ; 
they join issue over a fact ; that fact is the claim of miracles on 

Still held the seeds of life beneath the sod, 
Smouldering and struggling till the judgment-day. 

And hence we learn with reverence to esteem 
Of these frail houses, though the grave confine* ; 

Sophist may urge his cunning tests, and deem 
That they are earth ; — but they are heavenly shrine*. 

" Verses on Various Occasions," p. 131 J 



300 



Religious. — Catholicism. 



the part of the Catholic Church ; it is the Protestants* charge, and 
it is our glory. 

Observe, then, we affirm that the Supreme Being has wrought 
miracles on earih since the time of the Apostles. Protestants 
deny it. Why do we affirm ? Why do they deny? We affirm it 
on a First Principle; they deny it on a First Principle; and on 
either side the First Principle is made to be decisive of the 
question. . . Both they and we start with the miracles of the 
Apostles, * and then their First Principle, or presumption against 
our miracles, is, M What God did once, He is not likely to do 
again ;" while our First Principle, or presumption for our mira- 
cles, is this: " What God did once, He is likely to do again." 
They say, " It cannot be supposed He will work many miracles ; H 
we, " It cannot be supposed that he will work few." . . The 
two parties, you see, start with contradictory principles, and they 
determine the particular miracles which are the subject of dispute 
by their respective principles, without looking to such testimony 
as may be brought in their favor. They do not say, " St. Francis, % 
or St. Antony, or St. Philip Neri, did no miracles, for the evi- 
dence for them is worth nothing ; " or " because what looked like a 
miracle was not a miracle;" no, but they sa)^, " It is impossible 
they should have wrought miracles." Bring before the Protestant 
the largest mass of evidence and testimony in proof of the mira- 
culous liquefaction of St. Januarius's blood at Naples, let him be 
urged by witnesses of the highest character, chemists of the first 
fame, circumstances the most favorable for the detection of im- 
posture, coincidences and confirmations the most close, and mi- 
nute, and indirect, he will not believe it; his First Principle blocks 
belief. . . He laughs at the very idea of miracles or superna- 
tural acts, as occurring at this present day, he laughs at the 
notion of evidence for them ; one is just as likely as another, 
they are all false. Why? Because of his First Principle: there 
are no miracles since the Apostles. . , 



* I am arguing with Protestants ; if unbelievers are supposed, then they gener- 
ally use Hume's celebrated argument, which still is a presumption of First Princi- 
ple, viz. it is impossible to fancy the order of nature interrupted [as to which see 

p. Z2S|. 



Relics and Miracles, 



(II.) 

Now, on the other hand, let us take our own side of the ques- 
tion, and consider how we ourselves stand, relatively to the 
charge made against us. Catholics, then, hold the mystery of 
the Incarnation ; and the Incarnation is the most stupendous 
event which ever can take place on earth ; and after it, and hence- 
forth, I do not see how we can scruple at any miracle on the 
mere ground of its being unlikely to happen. No miracle can be 
so great as that which took place in the Holy House at Nazareth ; 
it is indefinitely more difficult to believe than all the miracles of 
the Breviary, of the Martyrology, of Saints' lives, of legends, of 
local traditions, put together ; and there is the grossest inconsis- 
tency, on the very face of the matter, for any one so to strain out 
the gnat, and to swallow the camel, as to profess what is incon- 
ceivable, yet to protest against what is surely within the limits 
of intelligible hypothesis. If, through divine grace, we once are 
• able to accept the solemn truth that the Supreme Being was born 
of a mortal woman, what is there to be imagined which can offend 
us on the ground of its marvellousness ? Thus, you see, it hap- 
pens that, though First Principles are commonly assumed, not 
proved, ours in this case admits, if not of proof, yet of recom- 
mendation, by means of that fundamental truth which Protestants 
profess as well as we. When we start with assuming that mira- 
cles are not unlikely, we are putting forth a position which lies 
imbedded, as it were, and involved in the great revealed fact of 
the Incarnation. 

So much is plain at starting, but more is plain too. Miracles 
are not only not unlikely, they are positively likely, and for this 
simple reason, because, for the most part, when God begins, He 
goes on. We conceive that when He first did a miracle, He 
began a series; what He commenced, He continued; what has 
been, will be. Surely this is good and clear reasoning. To my 
own mind, certainly, it is incomparably more difficult to believe 
that the Divine Being should do one miracle and no more, than 
that he should do a thousand ; that He should do one great mira- 
cle only, than that he should do a multitude of less besides. 
This beautiful world of nature, His own work, He broke its har- 
mony, He broke through His own laws, which He had imposed 
on it; He worked out His purposes, not simply through it, but 



302 



Religious. — Catholicism. 



in violation of it. If He did this only in the lifetime of the Apos. 
ties ; if He did it but once, eighteen hundred years ago and more, 
that isolated infringement looks as the mere infringement of a 
rule ; if Divine wisdom would not leave an infringement, an 
anomaly, a solecism, on His work, He might be expected to in- 
troduce a series of miracles, and to turn the apparent exception 
into an additional law of His Providence. If the Divine Being 
does a thing once, He is, judging by human reason, likely to do 
it again. This surely is common sense. . . Suppose you your- 
selves were once to see a miracle, would you not feel that experi- 
ence to be like passing a line? should you, in consequence of it, 
declare, M I never will believe another if I hear of one " ? would 
it not, on the contrary, predispose you to listen to a new report? 
would you scoff at it, and call it priestcraft, for the reason that 
you had actually seen one with your own eyes ? I think you 
would not ; then, I ask, what is the difference of the argument, 
whether you have seen one or believe one ? You believe the 
Apostolic miracles, therefore be inclined, beforehand, to believe 
later ones. Thus you see, our First Principle, that miracles are 
not unlikely now, is not at all a strange one in the mouths of 
those who believe that the Supreme Being came miraculously 
into this world, miraculously united Himself to man's nature, 
passed a life of miracles, and then gave his Apostles a greater 
gift of miracles than He exercised Himself. So far on the 
principle itself ; and now, in the next place, see what comes 
of it. This comes of it, — that there are two systems going on in 
the world, one of nature and one above nature ; and two histories, 
one of common events, and one of miracles ; and each system 
and each history has its own order. When I hear of the miracle 
of a Saint, my first feeling would be of the same kind as if it were 
a report of any natural exploit or event. Supposing, for instance, 
I heard a report of the death of some public man, it would not 
startle me, even if I did not at once credit it, for all men must die. 
Did I read of any great feat of valor, I should believe it, if im- 
puted to Alexander or Cceur de Lion. Did I hear of any act of 
baseness, I should disbelieve it, if imputed to a friend whom I 
knew and loved. And so, in like manner, were a miracle report 
ed to me as wrought by a member of Parliament, or a Bishop of 
the Establishment, or a Wesleyan preacher, I should repudiate 
the notion : were it referred to a Saint, or the relic of a Saint, or 



Relics and Miracles. 



the intercession of a Saint, I should not be startled at it, though 
I might not at once believe it. And I certainly should be right 
in this conduct, supposing my First Principle to be true. 
Miracles to the Catholic are facts of history and biography, and 
nothing else ; and they are to be regarded and dealt with as other 
facts ; and as natural facts, under circumstances, do not startle 
Protestants, so supernatural, under circumstances, do not startle 
the Catholic* They may or may not have taken place in particu- 
lar cases ; he maybe unable to determine which ; he may have no 
distinct evidence ; he may suspend his judgment ; but he will 
say, " It is very possible ho never will say, " I cannot believe 
it." . .f 

(HI.) 

Such, then, is the answer I would make to those who urge 
against us the multitude of miracles recorded in our Saints' Lives. 
We think them true in the sense in which Protestants think the 
details of English history true. . . If, indeed, miracles never 
can occur, then, indeed, impute the narratives to fraud ; but, till 
you prove they are not likely, we shall consider the histories 
which have come down to us true on the whole, though in par- 
ticular cases they may be exaggerated or unfounded. Where, in- 
deed, they can certainly be proved to be false, there we shall be 

♦Douglas, succeeding Middleton, lays down the sceptical and Protestant First 
Principle thus : " The history of miracles (to make use of the words of an author 
whose authority you will think of some weight) is of a kind totally different from 
that of common events ; the one to be suspected always of course, without the 
strongest evidence to confirm it ; the other to be admitted of course, without as 
strong reason to suspect it," etc. ( u Criterion," p. 26.) 

t [" Though it is a matter of faith with Catholics that miracles never cease in the 
Church, still that this or that professed miracle really took place, is for the most 
part only a matter of opinion, and when it is believed, whether on testimony or tra- 
dition, it is not believed to the exclusion of all doubt, whether about the fact or its 
miraculousness. Thus I may believe in the liquefaction of St. Pantaleon's blood, 
and believe it to the best of my judgment to be a miracle, yet, supposing a chemist 
offered to produce exactly the same phenomena under exactly similar circumstances 
by the materials put at his command by his science, so as to reduce what seemed 
beyond nature within natural laws, I should watch with some suspense of mind and 
misgiving the course of his experiment, as having no Divine Word to fall back upon 
as a ground of certainty that the liquefaction was miraculous." 14 Grammar of A»- 
aent," p. 193.] 



304 



Religious. — Catholicism. 



bound to do our best to get rid of them ; but till that is clear, we 
shall be liberal enough to allow others to use their private judg- 
ment in their favor, as we use ours in their disparagement. Foi 
myself, lest I appear to be in any way shrinking from a determi- 
nate judgment on the claims of those miracles and relics, which 
Protestants are so startled at, and to be hiding particular ques- 
tions in what is vague and general, I will avow distinct!}', that, 
putting out of the question the hypothesis of unknown laws of 
nature (that is, of the professed miracle being not miraculous), I 
think it impossible to withstand the evidence which is brought for 
the liquefaction of the blood of St. Januarius at Naples, and for 
the motion of the eyes of the pictures cf the Madonna in the 
Roman States. I see no reason to doubt the material of the Lom- 
bard Crown at Monza ; and I do not see why the Holy Coat at 
Treves may not have been what it professes to be. I firmly be- 
lieve that portions of the true Cross are at Rome, and elsewhere, 
that the crib of Bethlehem is at Rome, and the bodies of St. Peter 
and St. Paul also. I believe that at Rome, too, lies St. Stephen, 
that St. Matthew lies at Salerno, and St. Andrew at Amain. I 
firmly believe that the relics of the Saints are doing innumerable 
miracles and graces daily, and that it needs only for a Catholic to 
show devotion to any Saint in order to receive special benefits 
from his intercession. I firmly believe that the Saints in their life- 
time have before now raised the dead to life, crossed the sea wiih- 
out vessels, multiplied grain and bread, cured incurable diseases, 
and superseded the operation of the laws of the universe in a mul- 
titude of ways. Many men, when they hear an educated man so 
speak, will at once impute the avowal to insanity, or to an idio- 
syncrasy, or to imbecility of mind, or to decrepitude of powers, or 
to fanaticism, or to hypocrisy. They have a right to say so, if 
they will ; and we have a right to ask them why they do not say 
it of those who bow down before the Mystery of mysteries, the 
Divine Incarnation. If they do not believe this, they are not yet 
Protestants ; if they do, let them grant that He who has dune the 
greater may do the less. ("Present PosiJgn of Ca*holics # " p. 
298.) 



Earliest Recorded Apparition of the Blessed Virgin, 305 



THE EARLIEST RECORDED APPARITION OF THE 
BLESSED VIRGIN. 

I know of no instance to my purpose earlier than a.d. 234, but 
it is a -very remarkable one. . . St. Gregory Nyssen,* then, a 
native of Cappadocia in the fourth century, relates that his name- 
sake, Bishop of Neo-Csesarea, surnameci Thaumaturgus, in the 
century preceding, shortly before he was called to the priesthood, 
received in a vision a Creed, which is still extant, from the Blessed 
Mary at the hands of St. John. The account runs tnus : — He was 
deeply pondering theological doctrine, which the heretics of the 
day depraved. " In such thoughts," says his namesake of Nyssa, 
" he was passing the night, when one appeared, as if in human 
form, aged in appearance, saintly in the fashion of his garments, 
and very venerable both in grace of countenance and general 
mien. Amazed at the sight, he started from his bed, and asked 
who it was, and why he came ; but, on the other calming the per- 
turbation of his mind with his gentle voice, and saying he had ap- 
peared to him by divine command on account of his doubts, in 
order that the truth of the orthodox faith might be revealed to him, 
he took courage at the word, and regarded him with a mixture of 
joy and fright. Then, on his stretching his hand straight forward 
and pointing with his fingers at something on one side, he fol- 
lowed with his eyes the extended hand, and saw another appear- 
ance opposite to the former, in shape of a woman, but more than 
human. . . When his eyes could not bear the apparition, he heard 
them conversing together on the subject of his doubts ; and 
thereby not only gained a true knowledge of the faith, but learned 
their names, as they addressed each other by their respective ap- 
pellations. And thus he is said to have heard the person in 
woman's shape bid 'John the Evangelist* disclose to the young 
man the mystery of godliness ; and he answered that he was ready 
to comply in this matter with the wish of 1 the Mother of the Lord/ 
and enunciated a formulary, well-turned and complete, and so 
vanished. He, on the other hand, immediately committed to 
writing that divine teaching of his mystagogue, and henceforth 
preached in the Church according to that form, and bequeathed to 
posterity, as an inheritance, that heavenly teaching, by means of 



* [See "Essay on Doctrinal Development," p. 386.] 



306 



Religious. — Catholicism. 



which his people are instructed down to this day, being preserved 
from all heretical evil." He proceeds to rehearse the Creed thus 
given, 11 There is One God, Father of a Living Word," etc. Bull, 
after quoting it in his work on the Nicene Faith, alludes to this 
history of its origin, and adds, " No one should think it incredible 
that such a providence should befall a man whose whole life was 
conspicuous for revelations and miracles, as all ecclesiastical 
writers who have mentioned him (and who has not?) witness with 
one voice." 

Here our Lady is represented as rescuing a holy soul from in- 
tellectual error. This leads me to a reflection. . . It is said of 
her in the Antiphon, " All heresies thou hast destroyed alone." 
Surely the truth of it is verified in this age, as in former times. . . 
She is the great exemplar of prayer in a generation which em- 
phatically denies the power of prayer in toto y which determines 
that fatal laws govern the universe, that there cannot be any direct 
communication between earth and heaven, that God cannot visit 
His earth, and that man cannot influence His providence. (*' An- 
glican Difficulties," p. 423.) 



THE ANTECEDENT ARGUMENT FOR AN INFALLIBLE 
ARBITER OF FAITH AND MORALS. 

The common sense of mankind . . feels that the very idea of 
revelation implies a present informant and guide, and that an in- 
fallible one ; not a mere abstract declaration of truths not before 
known to man, or a record of history, or the result of an anti- 
quarian research, but a message and a lesson speaking to this 
man and that. This is shown by the popular notion which has 
prevailed among us since the Reformation, that the Bible itself is 
such a guide ; and which succeeded in overthrowing the Su- 
premacy of Church and Pope, for the very reason that it was a 
rival authority, not resisting merely, but supplanting it. In pro- 
portion, then, as we find, in matter of fact, that the inspired vol. 
ume is not calculated or intended to subserve that purpose, are 
we forced to revert to that living and present guide, which, at the 
•ra of her rejection, had been so long recognized as the dispenser 



The Antecedent Argument for Infallibility. 307 



of Scripture, according to times and circumstances, and the ar- 
biter of all true doctrine and holy practice to her children. We 
feel a need, and she alone, of all things under heaven, supplies it. 
We are told that God has spoken. Where? In a book? We 
have tried it, and it disappoints ; it disappoints, that most holy 
and blessed gift, not from fault of its own, but because it is used 
for a purpose for which it was not given. The Ethiopian's reply, 
when St. Philip asked him if he understood what he was reading, 
is the voice of nature, " How can I, unless some man shall guide 
me?" The Church undertakes that office ; . . she alone . . dares 
claim it, as if a secret instinct and involuntary misgivings re- 
strained those rival communions which go so far towards affecting 
it. The most obvious answer, then, to the question, why we yield 
to the authority of the Church in the questions and developments 
of faith is, that some authority there must be if there is a revela- 
tion,and other authority there is none but she ; in the words of 
St. Peter to her Divine Master and Lord, "To whom shall we 
go?" Nor must it be forgotten, in confirmation, that Scripture 
expressly calls the Church " the Pillar and Ground of the Truth," 
and promises her as by covenant that, 44 the Spirit of the Lord 
which is upon her, and His words which He has put in her mouth, 
shall not depart out of her mouth, nor out of the mouth of her 
seed, nor out of the mouth of her seed's seed, from henceforth and 
for ever." 

And if the very claim to infallible arbitration in religious dis- 
putes is of so weighty importance and interest in all ages of the 
world, much more is it welcome at a time like the present, when 
the human intellect is so busy, and thought so fertile, and opinion 
so indefinitely divided. The absolute need of a spiritual supre- 
macy is at present the strongest of arguments in favor of its sup- 
ply. Surely, either an objective revelation has not been given, or 
it has been provided with means for impressing its objectiveness 
on the world. If Christianity be a social religion, as it certainly 
is, and if it be based on certain ideas acknowledged as divine, or 
a creed, which shall here be assumed, and if these ideas have 
various aspects, and make distinct impressions on different 
minds, and issue in consequence in a multiplicity of develop- 
ments, true, or false, or mixed, as has been shown, what influence 
will suffice to meet and to do justice to these conflicting condi- 
tions, but a supreme authority ruling and reconciling individual 



3o8 



Religious. — Catholicism. 



judgments, by a divine right and a recognized wisdom? In bar- 
barous times the will is reached through the senses ; but in an 
age in which reason, as it is called, is the standard of truth and 
right, it is abundantly evident to any one who mixes ever so little 
with the world, that, if things are left to themselves, every indi- 
vidual will have his own view of things, and take his own course ; 
that two or three agree together to-day to part to-morrow ; that 
Scripture will be read in contrary ways, and history will be ana- 
lyzed into subtle but practical differences ; that philosophy, taste, 
prejudice, passion, party, caprice, will find no common measure, 
unless there be some supreme power to control the mind, and to 
compel agreement. There can be no combination on the basis of 
truth without an organ of truth. As cultivation brings out the 
colors of flowers, and domestication the hues of animals, so does 
education of necessity develop differences of opinion; and while 
it is impossible to lay down first principles in which all will unite, 
it is utterly unreasonable to expect that this man should yield to 
that, or all to one. I do not say there are no eternal truths, such 
as the poet speaks of,* which all acknowledge in private, but that 
there are none sufficiently commanding to be the basis of public 
union and action. The only general persuasive in matters of con- 
duct is authority; that is, when truth is in question, a judgment 
which we consider superior to our own. If Christianity is both 
social and dogmatic, and intended for all ages, it must, humanly 
speaking, have an infallible expounder. Else you will secure 
unity of form, at the loss of unity of doctrine, or unity of doctrine 
at the loss of unity of form ; you will have to choose between a 
comprehension of opinions, and a resolution into parties, between 
latitudinarian and sectarian error ; you may be tolerant or intole- 
rant of contrarieties of thought, but contrarieties you will have. 
By the Church of England, a hollow uniformity is preferred to an 
infallible chair, and by the sects of England, an interminable di- 
vision. Germany and Geneva began with persecution and have 
ended in scepticism. The doctrine of infallibility is a less violent 
hypothesis than this sacrifice either of faith or of charity. (" Essay 
on Development," p. 125.) 



* Ov ydp Tt vvv ye ku\^^\ M"*** 



The Practicul Wisdom of the Holy See. 



THE PRACTICAL WISDOM OF THE HOLY SEE. 

In the midst of all our difficulties* I have one ground of hope, 
just one stay, but, as I think, a sufficient one, which serves me in 
the stead of all other argument whatever, which hardens me 
against criticism, which supports me if I begin to despond, and to 
which I ever come round, when the question of the possible and 
the expedient is brought into discussion. It is the decision of 
the Holy See ; St. Peter has spoken, it is he who has enjoined 
that which seems to us so unpromising. He has spoken, and has 
a claim on us to trust him. He is no recluse, no solitary student, 
no dreamer about the past, no doter upon the dead and gone, no 
projector of the visionary. He for eighteen hundred years has 
lived in the world ; he has seen all fortunes, he has encountered 
all adversaries, he has shaped himself for all emergencies. If 
ever there was a power on earth who had an eye for the times, 
who has confined himself to the practicable, and has been happy in 
his anticipations, whose words have been facts, and whose com- 
mands prophecies, such is he in the history of ages, who sits from 
generation to generation in the Chair of the Apostles, as the Vicar 
of Christ, and the Doctor of his Church. 

These are not the words of rhetoric, but of history. All who 
take part with the Apostle, are on the winning side. He has long 
since given warrants for the confidence which he claims. From 
the first he has looked through the wide world, of which he has 
the burden ; and, according to the need of the day, and the inspi- 
rations of his Lord, he has set himself now to one thing, now to 
another ; but to all in season, and to nothing in vain. He came 
first upon an age of refinement and luxury like our own, and, in 
spite of the persecutor, fertile in the resources of his cruelty, he 
soon gathered, out of all classes of society, the slave, the soldier, 
the high-born lady, and the sophist, materials enough to form a 
people to his Master's honor. The savage hordes came down in 
torrents from the north, and Peter went out to meet them, and by 
his very eye he sobered them, and backed them in their full 
career. They turned aside and flooded the whole earth, but only 
to be more surely civilized by him, and tc be made ten times more 



* [Attending th« foundation of the Catholic University in Dublin. j 



Religious. — Catholicism. 



his children even than the oWer populations which they had over* 
whelmed. Lawless kings arose, sagacious as the Roman, passion- 
ate as the Hun, yet in him they found their match, and were shat- 
tered, and he lived on. The gates of the earth were opened to the 
east and west, and men poured out to take possession ; but he 
went with them by his missionaries, to China, to Mexico, carried 
along by zeal and charity, as far as those children of men were 
led by enterprise, covetousness, or ambition. Has he failed in 
his successes up to this hour? Did he, in our father's day, fail 
in his struggle with Joseph of Germany and his confederates, 
with Napoleon, a greater name, and his dependent kings, that, 
though in another kind of fight, he should fail in ours ? What 
gray hairs are on the head of Judah, whose youth is renewed 
like the eagle's, whose feet are like the feet of harts, and under- 
neath the Everlasting arms? (" Idea of a University," p. 13.) 



THE OBLIGATIONS OF CATHOLICS TO THE HOLY 

SEE. 

Our duty to the Holy See, to the Chair of St. Peter, is to be 
measured by what the Church teaches us concerning that Holy 
See and concerning him who sits in it. Now St. Peter, who first 
occupied it, was the Vicar of Christ. You know well, our Lord 
and Saviour Jesus Christ, who suffered on the Cross for us, 
thereby bought for us the kingdom of heaven. " When Thou 
hadst overcome the sting of death," says the hymn, u Thou didst 
open the kingdom of heaven to those who believe." He opens, 
and He shuts ; He gives grace, He withdraws it ; He judges, He 
pardons, He condemns. Accordingly He speaks of Himself in 
the Apocalypse as " Him who is the Ho'y and the True, Him 
that hath the key of David (the key, that is of the chosen king of 
the chosen people), Him that openeth and no man shutteth, that 
shutteth and no man openeth." And what our Lord, the Supreme 
Judge, is in heaven, that was St, Peter on earth; he had those 
keys of the kingdom, according to the text, " Thou art Peter, 
and upon this rock I will build My Church, and the gates of hell 
shall not prevail against it. And I will give to thee the keys o' 



The Obligations of Catholics to the Holy See, 311 



the kingdom of heaven ; and whatsoever thou shalt bind upon 
earth, shall be bound also in heaven ; and whatsoever thou shalt 
loose on earth, shall be loosed also in heaven." 

Next, let it be considered, the kingdom which our Lord set up, 
with St. Peter at its head, was decreed in the counsels of God to 
last to the end of all things, according to the words I have just % 
quoted, '"The gates of hell shall not prevail against it." And 
again, "Behold, I am with you all days, even to the consumma- 
tion of the world." And in the words of the prophet Isaias, 
speaking of that divinely established Church, then in the future, 
" This is My covenant with them, My Spirit that is in thee, and 
My words which I have put in thy mouth, shall not depart out of 
thy mouth, nor out of the mouth of thy seed, nor out of the mouth 
of thy seed's seed, saith the Lord, from henceforth and for ever." 
And the prophet Daniel says, " The God of heaven will set up a 
kingdom that shall never be destroyed . . and it shall break in 
pieces and shall consume all those kingdoms (of the earth, which 
went before it), and itself shall stand for ever." 

That kingdom our Lord set up when He came on earth, and 
especially after His resurrection ; for we are told by St. Luke that 
this was His gracious employment, when He visited the Apostles 
from time to time, during the forty days which intervened be- 
tween Easter Day and the day of His Ascension. " He showed 
Himself alive to the Apostles," says the Evangelist, " after His 
passion by many proofs, for forty days appearing to them and 
speaking of the kingdom of God." And accordingly, when at 
length He had ascended on high, and had sent down " the 
promise of His Father," the Holy Ghost, upon His Apostles, they 
forthwith entered upon their high duties, and brought that king- 
dom or Church into shape, and supplied it with members, and en- 
larged it, and carried it into all lands. As to St. Peter, he acted 
as the head of the Church, according to the previous words of 
Christ ; and, still according to his Lord's supreme will, he at 
length placed himself in the see of Rome, where he was 
martyred. And what was then done, in its substance cannot be 
undone. " God is not as a man that He should lie, nor as the 
son of man, that He should change. Hath He said then, and 
shall He not do ? hath He spoken, and will He not fulfil ? " And, 
as St. Paul says, " the gifts and the calling of God are without 
repentance." His Church, then, in all necessary matters, is as 



312 



Religious. — Catholicism. 



unchangeable as He. Its framework, its polity, its ranks, itl 

offices, its creed, its privileges, the promises made to it, its for- 
tunes in the world, are ever what they have been. 

Therefore, as it was in the world, but not of the world in the 
Apost'.es' times, so it is now : — as it was " in honor and dishonor, 
in evil report and good report, as chastised but not killed, as 
having nothing and possessing all things,'' in the Apostles' times, 
so it is now: — as then it taught the truth, so it does now; 
as then it had the sacraments of grace, so has it now ; 
as then it had a hierarchy or holy government of Bishops, 
priests, and deacons, so has it now ; and as it had a Head 
then, so must it have a Head now. Who is that visible 
Head now? who is now the Vicar of Christ? who has now 
the keys of the kingdom of heaven, as St. Peter had then ? 
Who is it who binds and looses on earth, that our Lord may 
bind and loose in heaven ? Wno, I say, if a successor to St. Pe- 
ter there must be, who is that successor in his sovereign authority 
over the Church? It is he who sits in St. Peter's Chair : it is the 
Bishop of Rome. We all know this j it is part of our faith; I 
am not proving it to you, my brethren. The visible headship of 
the Church, which was with St. Peter while he lived, has been 
lodged ever since in his Chair: the successors in his headship are 
the successors in his Chair, that continuous line of Bishops of 
Rome, or Popes, as they are called, one after another, as years have 
rolled on. one dying and another coming, down to this day, when 
we see Pius the Ninth sustaining the weight of the glorious 
Apostolate, and that for twenty years past — a tremendous weight, 
a ministry involving momentous duties, innumerable anxieties, 
and immense responsibilities, as it e-er has done. 

And now, though I might say much more about the preroga- 
tives of the Holy Father, the visible Head of the Church, I have 
*aid more than enough for the purpose which has led to mj 
speaking abouv him at all. I have said that, like St. Peter, he is 
the Vicar of his Lord. He can judge, and he can acquit ; he can 
pardon, and he can condemn ; he can command, and he can per- 
mit : he can forbid, and he can punish. He has a supreme 
jurisdiction over the people of God. He can stop the ordinary 
•course of sacramental mercies ; he can excommunicate from the 
ordinary grace of redemption ; and he cm remove again the ban 
which he has inflicted. Iris the rule of Christ's providence, that 



The Obligations of Catholics to the Holy See. 313 



what His Vicar does in severity or in mercy upon earth, He Him- 
self confirms in heaven. And in saying all this, I have said 
enough for my purpose, because that purpose is to define our 
obligations to him. That is the point on which our attention is 
fixed; " our obligations to the Holy See ;" and what need I say 
more to measure our own duty to it and to him who sits in it, 
than to say that, in his administration of Christ's kingdom, in his 
religious acts, we must never oppose his will, or dispute his word, 
or criticise his policy, or shrink from his side? There are kings 
of the earth who have despotic authority, which their subjects 
obey in deed but disown in their hearts ; but we must never mur- 
mur at that absolute rule which the Sovereign Pontiff has over us, 
because it is given to him by Christ, and in obeying him we are 
obeying his Lord. We must never suffer ourselves to doubt that, 
in his government of the Church, he is guided by an intelligence 
more than human. His yoke is the yoke of Christ; he has the 
responsibibity of his own acts, not we ; and to his Lord must he 
render account, not to us. Even in secular matters it is ever safe 
to be on his side, dangerous to be on the side of his enemies. 
Our duty is, — not indeed to mix up Christ's Vicar with this or 
that party of men, because he in his high station is above all 
parties, — but to look at his formal deeds, and to follow him 
whither he goeth, and never to desert him, however we may be 
tried, but to defend him at all hazards, and against all comers, as 
a son would a father, and as a wife a husband, knowing that his 
cause is the cause of God. And so as regards his successors, if 
we live to see them ; it is our duty to give them in like manner 
our dutiful allegiance and our unfeigned service, and to follow 
them also whithersoever they go, having that same confidence 
that each in his turn and in his own day will do God's work and 
will, which we felt in their predecessors, now taken away to thai! 
eternal reward. (" Occasional Sermons," p. 264.) 



Religious^ Catholicism. 



ENGLISH CATHOLICS AND PIUS IX 

And if I am to pass on to speak of the present Pontiff, and o( 
our own obligations to him, then I would have you recollect that 
it is he who has taken the Catholics of England out of their un- 
formed state and made them a Church. He it is who has re- 
dressed a misfortune of nearly three hundred years' standing. 
Twenty years ago we were a mere collection of individuals ; but 
Pope Pius has brought us together, has given us Bishops, and 
created out of us a body politic, which (please God), as time goes 
on, will play an important part in Christendom, with a character, 
an intellect, and a power of its own, with schools of its own, with 
a definite infinite influence in the counsels of the Church Catho- 
lic, as England had of old time. 

This has been his great act towards our country ; and then 
specially, as to his great act towards us here, towards me. One 
of his first acts after he was Pope was, in his great condescension, 
to call me to Rome ; then, when I got there, he bade me send for 
my friends to be with me ; and he formed us into an Oratory. 
And thus it came to pass that on my return to England, I was 
able to associate myself with others who had not gone to Rome, 
till we were so many in number, that not only did we establish 
our own Oratory here,* whither the Pope had specially sent us, 
but we found we could throw off from us a colony of zealous and 
able priests into the metropolis, and establish there, with the 
powers with which the Pope had furnished me, and the sanction 
of the late Cardinal, that Oratory which has done and still does 
so much good among the Catholics of London. 

Such is the Pope now happily reigning in the Chair of St. Pe- 
ter ; such are our personal obligations to him ; such has he been 
towards England, such towards us, towards you, my Brethren. 
Such he is in his benefits, and great as are the claims of those 
benefits upon us, great equally are the claims on us of his per- 
sonal character and of his many virtues. He is one whom to 
see is to love ; one who overcomes even strangers, even enemies, 
by his very look and voice ; whose presence subdues, whose 
memory haunts, eren the sturdy, resolute mind of the English 



* [In Birmingham. ] 



Scandals in the Catholic Church, 315 



Protestant. Such is the Holy Father of Christendom, the worthy 
successor of a long and glorious line. Such is he ; and, great as 
he is in office, and in his beneficent acts and virtuous life, as 
great is he in the severity of his tnais in the complication of his 
duties, and in the gravitv o. his perns, (" Occasional Sermons," 
p. 271.) 



SCANDALS IN THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 

No Catholic will deny [that the Church has scandals]. She has 
ever had the reproach and shame of being the mother of children 
unworthy of her. She has good children ; — she has many more 
bad. Such is the will of God as declared from the beginning. 
He might have formed a pure Church ; but He has expressly 
predicted that the cockle, sown by the enemy, shall remain with 
the wheat, even to the harvest at the end of the world. He pro- 
nounced that His Church should be like a fisher's net, gathering 
of every kind, and not examined till the evening. Nay, more 
than this, He declared that the bad and imperfect should far sur- 
pass the good. " Many are called," He said, " but few are chos- 
en ; " and His Apostle speaks of "a remnant saved according 
to the election of grace." There is ever, then, an abundance of 
materials in the lives and the histories of Catholics, ready to the 
use of those opponents who, starting with the notion that the 
Holy Church is the work of the devil, wish to have some cor- 
roboration of their leading idea. Her very prerogative gives 
special opportunity for it ; I mean, that she is the Church of all 
lands and of all times. If there was a Judas among the Apostles, 
and a Nicholas among the deacons, why should we be surprised 
that in the course of eighteen hundred years there should be 
flagrant instances of cruelty, of unfaithfulness, of hypocrisy, or of 
profligacy, and that not only in the Catholic people, but in high 
places, in royal palaces, in bishops' households, nay, in the seat 
of St. Peter itself? Why need it surprise, if in barbarous ages, or 
in ages of luxury, there have been bishops, or abbots, or priests, 
who have forgotten themselves and their God, and served- the 
world or the flesh, and have perished in that evil service ? What 
triumph is it, though in a long line of between two and three 
hundred popes, amid martyrs, confessors, doctors, sage rulers 



Religious, — Catholicism. 



and loving fathers of their people, one, or two, or three are found 
who fulfil the Lord's description of the wicked servant, who be- 
gan " to strike the manservants and maidservants, and to eat and 
drink and be drunk "? What will come of it, though we grant 
that at this time or that, here or there, mistakes in policy, or ill 
advised measures, or timidity, or vacillation in action, or secular 
maxims, or inhumanity, or narrowness of mind, have seemed to 
influence the Church's action or her bearing towards her children ? 
I can only say that, taking man as he is, it would be a miracle 
were such offences altogether absent from her history. Consider 
what it is to be left to oneself and one's conscience, without 
others' judgment on what we do, which at times is the case with 
all men ; consider what it is to have easy opportunities of sinning ; 
and then cast the first stone at churchmen who have abused their 
freedom from control or independence of criticism. With such 
considerations before me, I do not wonder that these scandals 
take place ; which, of course, are the greater in proportion as the 
field on which they are found is larger and wider, and the more 
shocking in proportion as the profession of sanctity, under which 
they exhibit themselves, is more prominent. What religious 
body can compare with us in duration or in extent? There are 
crimes enough to be found in the members of all denominations ; 
if there are passages in our history, the like of which do not occur 
in the annals of Wesleyanism or of Independency, or the other 
religions of the day, recollect there have been no Anabaptist pon- 
tiffs, no Methodist kings, no Congregational monasteries, no 
Quaker populations. Let the tenets of Irving or Swedenborg 
spread, as they never can, through the world, and we should see 
if, amid the wealth, and power, and station which would accrue 
to their holders, they would bear their faculties more meekly than 
Catholics have done. (" Occasional Sermons," p. 144.) 



" POPULAR" CATHOLICS. 

Here is a grave matter against you, that you are so well with 
the Protestants about you ; I do not mean to say that you are not 
bound to cultivate peace with all men, and to do them all the 
offices of charity in your power. Of course you are, and if thev 



"Popular" Catholics 317 

respect, esteem, and love ) t ou, it redounds to your praise and wil/ 
gain you a reward ; but I mean more than this ; they do not re- 
spect you, but they like you, because they think of you as of them- 
selves, they see no difference between themselves and you. This 
is the very reason why they so often take your part, and assert or 
defend your political rights. Here, again, there is a sense of 
course in which our civil rights may be advocated by Pro- 
testants without any reflection on us, and with honor to them. 
We are like others in this, that we are men ; that we are mem- 
bers of the same state with them, subjects, contented subjects, of 
the same Sovereign, that we have a dependence on them, and 
have them dependent on us ; that, like them, we feel pain when 
ill-used, and are grateful when well-treated. We need not be 
ashamed of a fellowship like this, and those who recognize it 
in us are generous in doing so. But we have much cause to 
be ashamed, and much cause to be anxious what God thinks of 
us, if we gain their support by giving them a false impression in 
our persons of what the Catholic Church is, and what Catholics 
are bound to be, what bound to believe and to do ; and is not this 
the case often, and the world takes up your interests, because you 
share its sins? 

Nature is one with nature, grace with grace ; the world then 
witnesses against you by being good friends with you ; you could 
not have got on with the world so well, without surrendering some- 
thing which was precious and sacred. The world likes you, 
all but your professed creed ; distinguishes you from your creed 
in its judgment of you, and would fain separate you from it in 
fact. Men say, " These persons are better than their Church ; we 
have not a word to say for their Church ; but Catholics are not 
what they were ; they are very much like other men now. Their 
creed certainly is bigoted and cruel, but what would you hsve 
of them? You cannot expect them to confess this; let them 
change quietly, no one changes in public, be satisfied that they 
are changed. They are as fond of the world as we are ; they take up 
political objects as warmly ; they like their own way just as well ; 
they do not like strictness a whit better ; they hate spiritual thral- 
dom, and they are half ashamed of the Pope and his Councils. 
They hardly believe any miracles now, and are annoyed when 
their own brethren officiously proclaim them ; they never speak of 
purgatory; they are sore about images ( they avoid the subject 0/ 



318 



Religious. — Caiholasm 



Indulgences ; and they will not commit themselves to the doctrine 
of exclusive salvation. The Catholic doctrines are now mere 
badges of party. Catholics think for themselves and judge fox 
themselves, just as we do ; they are kept in their Church by 
a point of honor, and a reluctance at seeming to abandon a fallen 
cause." 

Such is the judgment of the world, and you, my brethren, are 
shocked to hear it ; — but may it not be that the world knows more 
about you than you know about yourselves ? " If ye had 
been of the world," says Christ, " the world would love its 
own ; but because ye are not of the world, but I have chosen 
you out of the world, therefore the world hateth you." So 
speaks Christ of His Apostles. How run His words when 
applied to you? " If ye be of the world, the world will love its 
own ; therefore ye are of the world, and I have not chosen you out 
of the world, because the world loveth you." Do not complain of 
the world's imputing to you more than is true ; those who live as 
the world give color to those who think them of the world, and 
seem to form but one party with them. In proportion as you put 
off the yoke of Christ, so does the world by a sort of instinct 
recognize you, and think well of you accordingly. Its highest 
compliment is to tell you that you disbelieve. Oh, my brethren, 
there is an eternal enmity between the world and the Church 
The Church declares by the mouth of an Apostle, " Whoso will be 
a friend of the world, becomes an enemy of God ; " and the world 
retorts, and calls the Church apostate, sorceress, Beelzebub, and 
Antichrist. She is the image and the mother of the predestinate, 
and, if you would be found among her children when you die, you 
must have part in her reproach while you live. Does not the 
world scoff at all that is glorious, all that is majestic, in our holy 
religion? Does it not speak against the special creations of God's 
grace? Does it not disbelieve the possibility of purity and chas- 
tity? Does it not slander the profession of celibacy? Does it 
not deny the virginity of Mary? Does it not cast out her very 
name as evil ? Does it not scorn her as a dead woman, whom you 
know to be the Mother of all living, and the great Intercessor of 
the faithful ? Does it not ridicule the Saints ? Does it not make 
light of their relics? Does it not despise the Sacraments ? Does 
it not blaspheme the awful Presence which dwells upon our 
altars, and mOck bitterly and fiercely at our believing that what it 



A Bad Catholic, 



calls bread and wine is that very same Body and Blood of the 
Lamb which lay in Mary's womb and hung on the Cross ? What 
are we, that we should be better treated than our Lord, and His 
Mother, and His servants, and His works? Nay, what are Ave, if 
we be better treated, but the friends of those who treat us well, and 
who ill-treat Him? ("Discourses to Mixed Congregations/' 
o. 165.) 



A BAD CATHOLIC. 

[By how many] a Catholic have the very mercies of God been 
perverted to his [own] ruin ! He has rested on the Sacraments, 
without caring to have the proper dispositions for attending them. 
At one time he had lived in neglect of religion altogether; but 
there was a date when he felt a wish to set himself right with his 
Maker ; so he began, and has continued ever since, to go to Con- 
fession and Communion at convenient intervals. He comes 
again and again to the Priest ; he goes through his sins ; the 
Priest is obliged to take his account of them, which is a very de- 
fective account, and sees no reason for not giving him absolution. 
He is absolved, as far as words can absolve him ; he comes again 
to the Priest when the season comes round ; again he confesses, 
and again he has the form pronounced over him. He falls sick, he 
receives the last Sacraments : he receives the last rites of the 
Church, and he is lost. He is lost, because he has never really 
turned his heart to God ; or, if he had some poor measure of con* 
trition for a while, it did not last beyond his first or second con- 
fession. He soon taught himself to come to the Sacraments with- 
out any contrition at all ; he deceived himself, and left out his 
principal and most important sins. Somehow he deceived 
himself into the notion that they were not sins, or not 
mortal sins ; for some reason or other he was silent, and his 
confession became as defective as his contrition. Yet this 
scanty show of religion was sufficient to soothe and stupefy 
his conscience ; so he went on year after year, never making a 
good confession, communicating in mortal sin, till he fell ill ; 
and then, I say, the viaticum and holy oil were brought to him, 



320 



Religious. — Catholicism. 



and he committed sacrilege for his last time, — and so he went to 

his God. 

Oh, what a moment for the poor soul, when it comes to itself, 
and finds itself suddenly before the judgment-seat of Christ ! Oh, 
what a moment, when, breathless with the journey, and dizzy with 
the brightness, and overwhelmed with the strangeness of what is 
happening to him, and unable to realize where he is, the sinner 
hears the voice of the accusing spirit, bringing up all the sins of 
his past life, which he has forgotten, or which he has explained 
away, which he would not allow to be sins, though he suspected 
they were ; when he hears him detailing all the mercies of God 
which he has despised, all His warnings which he has set at 
naught, all his judgments which he has outlived ; when that evil 
one follows out into detail the growth and progress of a lost soul, 
— now it expanded and was confirmed in sin, — how it budded 
forth into leaves and flowers, grew into branches, and ripened into 
fruit, — till nothing was wanted for its full condemnation ! And, 
oh ! still more terrible, still more distracting, when the Judge 
speaks, and consigns it to the jailers, till it shall pay the endless 
debt which lies against it ! " Impossible, I a lost soul ! I sepa 
rated from hope and from peace for ever ! It is not I of whom the 
Judge so spake ! There is a mistake somewhere ; Christ, Saviour 
hold Thy hand, — one minute to explain it ! My name is Demas . 
I am but Demas, not Judas, or Nicholas, or Alexander, or 
Philetus, or Diotrephes. What? hopeless pain ! for me ! impossi- 
ble, it shall not be !" And the poor soul struggles and wrestles 
in the grasp of the mighty demon which has hold of it, and whose 
every touch is torment. "Oh, atrocious!" it shrieks in agony, 
and in anger too, as if the very keenness of the infliction were 
a proof of its injustice. " A second ! and a third ! I can bear no 
more ! stop, horrible fiend, give over ; I am a man, and not such 
as thou ! I am not food for thee, or sport for thee ! I never was 
in hell as thou ; I have not on me the smell of fire, nor the taint of the 
charnel-house ! I know what human feelings are ; I have been 
taught religion ; I have had a conscience ; I have a cultivated mind ; 
I am well versed in science and art ; I have been refined by litera- 
ture ; I have had an eye for the beauties of nature ; I am a philoso- 
pher, or a poet, or a shrewd observer of men, or a hero, or a 
statesman, or an orator, or a man of wit and humor. Nay, — I am 
a Catholic : I am not an unregenerate Protestant ; I have received 



The Idea of a Saint, 



the grace of the Redeemer ; I have attended the Sacraments for 
years ; I have been a Catholic from a child ; I am a son of the 
Martyrs ; I died in communion with the Church : nothing, nothing 
which I have ever been, which I have ever seen, bears any resem- 
blance to thee, and to the flame and stench which exhale from 
thee ; so I defy thee, and abjure thee, O enemy of man !" 

Alas! poor soul; and whilst it thus fights with that destiny 
wNch it has brought upon itself, and with those companions 
whom it has chosen, the man's name perhaps is solemnly chanted 
forth, and his memoly decently cherished among his friends on 
earth. His readiness in speech, his fertility in thought, his saga- 
city, or his wisdom, are not forgotten. Men talk of him from time 
to time ; they appeal to his authority ; they quote his words ; per- 
haps they even raise a monument to his name, or write his history. 
" So comprehensive a mind ! such a power of throwing light on a 
perplexed subject, and bringing conflicting ideas or facts into har- 
mony ! " " Such a speech it was that he made on such and such an 
occasion ; I happened to be present, and never shall forget it ;" or, 
M It was the saying of a very sensible man ;" or, " A great person- 
age, whom some of us knew;" or, "It was a rule with a very 
worthy and excellent friend of mine, now no more ;" or, "Never 
was his equaL in society, so just in his remarks, so versatile, 
so unobtrusive ;" or, " I was fortunate to see him once when 
a boy;" or, "So great a benefactor to his country and to his 
kind;" "His discoveries so great;'' or, " His philosophy so 
profound." Oh, vanity ! vanity of vanities, all is vanity ! What 
profitethit? What profiteth it ? His soul is in hell. Ch, ye chil- 
dren of men, while thus ye speak, his soul is in the beginning of 
those torments in which his body will soon have part, and which 
will never die. ("Discourses to Mixed Congregations," p. 37.) 



THE IDEA OF A SAINT. 

Worldly-minded men, however rich, if they are Catholics, 
cannot, till they utterly lose their faith, be the same as those w T ho 
are external to the Church ; they have an instinctive veneration for 
those who have the traces of heaven upon them, and they praise 
what they do not imitate. 



322 



Religious. — Catholicism. 



Such men have an idea before them which a Protestant nation 
has not ; they have the idea of a Saint ; they believe they realize 
the existence of those rare servants of God, who rise up from time 
to time in the Catholic Church like Angels in disguise, and shed 
around them a light as they walk on their way heavenward. They 
may not in practice do what is right and good, but they know 
what is true ; they know what to think and how to judge. They 
have a standard for their principles of conduct, and it is the 
image, the pattern of Saints which forms it for them. . . Very 
various are the Saints, their very variety is a token of God's work- 
manship ; but however various, and whatever was their special 
line of duty, they have been heroes in it ; they have attained such 
noble self-command, they have so crucified the flesh, they have so 
renounced the world ; they are so meek, so gentle, so tender- 
hearted, so merciful, so sweet, so cheerful, so full of prayer, so 
diligent, so forgetful of injuries ; they have sustained such great 
and continued pains, they have persevered in such vast labors, 
they have made such valiant confessions, they have wrought such 
abundant miracles, they have been blessed with such strange suc- 
cesses, that they have set up a standard before us of truth, of mag- 
nanimity, of holiness, of love. They are not always our examples, 
we are not always bound to follow them ; not more than we are 
bound to obey literally some of our Lord's precepts, such as turn- 
ing the cheek or giving away the coat ; not more than we can fol- 
low the course of the sun, moon, or stars in the heavens ; but, 
though not always our examples, they are always our standard of 
right and good ; they are raised up to be monuments and lessons, 
they remind us of God, they introduce us into the unseen world, 
they teach us what Christ loves, they track out for us the way 
which leads heavenward. They are to us who see them, what 
wealth, notoriety, rank, and name are to the multitude of men 
who live in darkness,— -objects of our veneration and of oui 
homage. (" Discourses to Mixed Congregations," p. 94.) 



St. John Baptist, 323 



LINGERING IMPERFECTIONS OF SAINTS ; PERSONAL 
AND TEMPORARY ERRORS OF POPES. 

The lingering imperfections of the Saints surely make us love 
them more, without leading us to reverence them less, and act as 
a relief to the discouragement and despondency which may come 
over those, who, in the midst of much error and sin, are striving 
to imitate them ; — according to the saying of St. Gregory, on 
a graver occasion, " Plus nobis Thomae infidelitas ad fidem, quam 
fides credentium discipulorum profuit." 

And in like manner, the dissatisfaction of Saints, of St. Basil, 
or again of our own St. Thomas, with the contemporary policy or 
conduct of the Holy See, while it cannot be taken to justify ordi- 
nary men, bishops, clergy or laity, in feeling the same, is no re- 
flection either on those Saints or on the Vicar of Christ. Nor 
is his infallibility in dogmatic decisions compromised by any per- 
sonal or temporary error into which he may have fallen, in his 
estimate, whether of a heretic such as Pelagius, or of a Doctor of 
the Church such as Basil. Accidents of this nature are unavoid- 
able in the state of being which we are allotted here below, 
(" Historical Sketches," vol. ii. p. xiii.) 



ST. JOHN BAPTIST. 

Whom can we conceive of such majestic and severe sanctity as 
the Holy Baptist? He had a privilege which reached near upon 
the prerogative of the Most Blessed Mother of God ; for, if she 
was conceived without sin, at least without sin he was born. She 
was all-pure, all-holy, and sin had no part in her ; but St. John 
was in the beginning of his existence a partaker of Adam's curse • 
he lay under God's wrath, deprived of that grace which Adam had 
received, and which is the life and strength of human nature. 
Yet as soon as Christ, his Lord and Saviour, came to him, and 
Mary saluted his own mother, Elizabeth, forthwith the grace 
of God was given to him, and the original guilt was wiped away 
from his soul. And therefore it is that we celebrate the nativity 
of St. Johnr nothing unholy does the Church celebrate ; not St. 
Peter's, nor St. Paul's nor St. Augustine's, nor St. Gregory's, nor 



3 2 4 



Religious. — Catholicism, 



St. Bernard's, nor St. Aloysius's, nor the nativity of any other 
Saint, however glorious, because they were all born in sin. She 
celebrates their conversions, their prerogatives, their martyrdoms, 
their deaths, their translations, but not their birth, because in no 
case was it holy. Three nativities alone does she commemorate, 
our Lord's, His Mother's, and, lastly, St. John's. What a special 
gift was this, my brethren, separating the Baptist off, and distin 
guishing him from all prophets and preachers, who ever live 4 
however holy, except perhaps the prophet Jeremias ! And sue 
as was his commencement, was the course of life. He was carried 
away by the Spirit into the desert, and there he lived on the 
simplest fare, in the rudest clothing, in the caves of wild beasts, 
apart from men, for thirty years, leading a life of mortification and 
of meditation, till he was called to preach penance, to pro- 
claim the Christ, and to baptize Him ; and then having done 
his work, and having left no act of sin on record, he was 
laid aside as an instrument which had lost its use, and 
languished in prison until he was suddenly cut off by the 
sword of the executioner. Sanctity is the one idea of him im- 
pressed upon us from first to last ; a most marvellous Saint, 
a hermit from his childhood, then a preacher to a fallen people, 
and then a Martyr. Surely such a life fulfils the expectation 
which the salutation of Mary raised concerning him before his 
birth. (" Discourses to Mixed Congregations," p. 63.) 



ST. JOHN EVANGELIST. 

Yet still more beautiful, and almost as majestic, is the image 
of his namesake, that great Apostle, Evangelist, and Prophet of 
the Church, who came so early into our Lord's chosen company, 
and lived so long after his fellows. We can contemplate him in 
his youth and in his venerable age ; and on his whole life, from 
first to last, as his special gift, is marked purity. He is the virgin 
Apostle, who on that account was so dear to his Lord, " the dis- 
ciple whom Jesus loved," who lay on His Bosom, who received 
His Mother from Him when upon the Cross, who had the vision of 
all the wonders which were to come to pass in the world to the end 
of time. " Greatly to be honored," says the Church, " is blessed 
John, who on the Lord's Breast lay at supper, to whom, a virgin, 
did Christ on the Cross commit His Virgin Mother. He waf 



St. Mary Magdalen. 



3*5 



chosen a virgin by the Lord, and was more beloved than the rest. 
The special prerogative of chastity had made him meet for his 
Lord's larger love. because being chosen by Him a virgin, a virgin 
he remained unto the end." He it was who in his youth professed 
his readiness to drink Christ's chalice with Him, who wore away 
a long life as a desolate stranger in a foreign land, who was at 
length carried to Rome, and plunged into the hot oil, and then 
was banished to a far island until his days drew near their close, 
(" Discourses to Mixed Congregations," p. 65.) 



ST. MARY MAGDALEN. 

Love is presented to us as the distinguishing grace of those 
who were sinners before they were saints. . . [and] who . . so 
fully instances [it] as the woman who "was a sinner," who 
watered the Lord's feet with her tears, and dried them with her 
hair, and anointed them with precious ointment? What a time 
for such an act ! She, who had come into the room as if for a 
festive purpose, to go about an act of penance ! It was a formal 
banquet, given by a rich Pharisee, to honor, yet to try, our Lord 
Magdalen came, young and beautiful, and " rejoicing in her 
youth," " walking in the ways of her heart and the gaze of her 
eyes :" she came as if to honor that feast, as women were wont to 
honor such festive doings, with her sweet odors and cool ungents 
for the forehead and hair of the guests. And he, the proud 
Pharisee, suffered her to come, so that she touched not him ; let 
her come, as we might suffer inferior animals to enter our apart- 
ments, without caring for them ; suffered her as a necessary em 
bellishment of the entertainment, yet as having no soul, or as 
destined to perdition, but any how as nothing to him. He, proud 
being, and his brethren like him, might " compass sea and land 
to make One proselyte but, as to looking into that proselyte's 
heart, pitying its sin, and trying to heal it, this did not enter into 
the circuit of his thoughts. No, he thought only of the necessi- 
ties of his banquet, and he let her come to do her part, such as ?t 
was, careless what her life was, so that she did that part well, and 
confined herself to it. But, lo, a wondrous sight ! was it a sudden 
inspiration, or a mature resolve? was it an act of the moment, or 
the result of a long conflict ? — but behold, that poor, many-colored 
child of guilt approaches to crown with her sweet ointment the 



326 



Religious. — Catholicism. 



head of Him to whom the feast was given ; and see, she has stayed 
her hand. She has looked, and she discerns the Immaculate, the 
Virgin's Son, " the brightness of the Eternal Light, and the spot- 
less mirror of God's majesty." She looks, and she recognizes the 
Ancient of Days, the Lord of life and death, her Judge ; and again 
she looks, and she sees in His face and in His mien a beauty, 
and a sweetness, awful, serene, majestic, more than that of the 
sons of men, which paled all the splendor of that festive room. 
Again she looks, timidly yet eagerly, and she discerns in His eye, 
and in His smile, the loving-kindness, the tenderness, the com- 
passion, the mercy of the Saviour of man. She looks at herself, 
and oh ! how vile, how hideous is she, who but now was so vain 
of her attractions ! — how withered is that comeliness, of which the 
praises ran through the mouths of her admirers ! — how loathsome 
has become the breath, which hitherto she thought so fragrant, 
savoring only of those seven bad spirits which dwell within her ! 
And there she would have stayed, there she would have sunk on 
the earth, wrapped in her confusion and in her despair, had she 
not cast one glance again on that all-loving, all-forgiving Coun- 
tenance. He is looking at her : it is the Shepherd looking at the 
lost sheep, and the lost sheep surrenders herself to Him. He 
speaks not, but He eyes her ; and she draws nearer to Him, 
Rejoice, ye Angels, she draws near, seeing nothing but' Him, and 
caring neither for the scorn of the proud, nor the jests of the pro- 
fligate. She draws near, not knowing whether she shall be saved 
or not, not knowing whether she shall be received, or what will 
become of her ; this only knowing, that He is the Fount of holi- 
ness and truth, as of mercy, and to whom should she go, but to 
Him who hath the words of eternal life? " Destruction is thine 
own, O Israel ; in Me only is thy help. Return unto Me, and 1 
will not turn away my face from thee : for I am holy, and will not 
be angry for ever." " Behold, we come unto Thee ; for Thou an 
the Lord our God. Truly the hills are false, and the multitude ol 
the mountains : truly the Lord our God is the salvation of Israel.* 
Wonderful meeting between what was most base and what is 
most pure ! Those wanton hands, those polluted lips, have 
touched, have kissed" the feet of the Eternal and He shrank not 
from the homage. And as she hung over them, and as she mois- 
tened them from her full eyes, how did her love for One so great, 
?et so gentle, wax vehement within her, lighting up a flame which 



St. Augustine. 



327 



never was to die from that moment even for ever ! and what excess 
did it reach, when He recorded before all men her forgiveness, and 
the cause of it ! " Many sins are forgiven her, for she loved 
much ; but to whom less is forgiven, the same loveth less. And 
He said unto her, Thy sins are forgiven thee ; thy faith hath made 
thee safe ; go in peace." 

Henceforth love was to her as to St. Augustine and to Su 
Ignatius Loyola afterwards (great penitents in their own time), as 

wound in the soul so full of desire as to become anguish. She 
could not live out of the presence of Him in whom her joy lay ; 
her spirit languished after Him, when she saw Him not ; and 
waited on Him silently, reverently, wistfully, when she was in 
His blissful Presence. We read of her, on one occasion, sitting 
at His feet, and listening to His words ; and He testified to her 
that she had chosen that best part which should not be taken 
away from her. And, after His resurrection, she, by her perse- 
verance, merited to see Him even before the Apostles. She would 
not leave the sepulchre, when Peter and John retired, but stood 
without, weeping ; and when the Lord appeared to her, and held 
her eyes that she should not know Him, she said piteously to the 
supposed keeper of the garden, " Tell me where thou hast laid 
Him, and I will take Him away." And when at length He made 
Himself known to her, she»turned herself, and rushed to embrace 
His feel, as at the beginning, but He, as if to prove the dutiful- 
ness of her love, forbade her: " Touch Me not," He said, "for I 
have not yet ascended to My Father ; but go to My brethren, and 
say to them, I ascend to My Father and your Father, to My 
God and your God." And so she was left to long for the time 
when she should see Him, and hear His voice, and enjoy His 
smile, and be allowed to minister to Him, for ever in Heaven, 
(" Discourses to Mixed Congregations," p. 75.) 



ST. AUGUSTINE. 

Let me speak of another celebrated conquest of God's grace 
in an after age, and you will see how it pleases Him to make a 
Confessor, a Saint, a Doctor of His Church, out of sin and heresy 
both together. It was not enough that the Father of the Western 
Schools, the author of a thousand works, the triumphant contro- 
rersialist, the especial champion of grace, should have been once 



Religious — Catholicism. 



a poor slave of the flesh, but he was the victim of a perverted in- 
tellect also. He who, of all others, was to extol the grace of 
God, was left more than others to experience the helplessness of 
nature. The great St. Augustine (I am not speaking of the holy 
missionary of the same name, who came to England and con- 
verted our pagan forefathers, and became the first Archbishop of 
Canterbury, but of the great African Bishop, two centuries before 
him) — Augustine, I say, not being in earnest about his soul, not 
asking himself the question, how was sin to be washed away, but 
rather being desirous, while youth and strength lasted, to enjoy 
the flesh and the world, ambitious and sensual, judged of truth 
and falsehood by his private judgment and his private fancy ; de- 
spised the Catholic Church because it spoke so much of faith and 
subjection, thought to make his own reason the measure of all 
things, and accordingly joined a far-spread sect, which affected to 
be philosophical and enlightened, to take large views of things, 
and to correct the vulgar, that is, the Catholic notions of God and 
Christ, of sin, and of the way to heaven. In this sect of his he 
remained for some years ; yet what he was taught there did not 
satisfy him. It pleased him for a time, and then he found he had 
been eating for food what had no nourishment in it ; he became 
hungry and thirsty after something more substantial, he knew not 
what ; he despised himself for being a slave to the flesh, and he 
found his religion did not help him to overcome it; thus he 
understood that he had not gained the truth, and he cried out, 
" Oh, who will tell me where to seek it, and who will bring me 
into it ? " 

Why did he not join the Catholic Church at once? I have told 
you why ; he saw that truth was nowhere else, but he was not 
sure it was there. He thought there was something mean, nar- 
row, irrational, in her system of doctrine ; he lacked the gift of 
faith. Then a great conflict began with him, — the conflict of nature 
with grace ; of nature and her children, the flesh and false reason, 
against conscience and the pleadings of the Divine Spirit, leading 
him to better things. Though he was still in a state of perdition, 
yet God was visiting him, and giving him the first fruits of those 
influences which were in the event to bring him out of it. Time 
went on ; and looking at him, as his Guardian Angel might look 
at him, you would have said that, in spite of much perverseness, 
and many a successful struggle against his Almighty Adversary, 



St Philip Nerl 



329 



In spite of his still being, as before, in a state of wrath, neverthe- 
less grace was making way in his soul, — he was advancing to- 
wards the Church. He did not know it himself, he could not 
recognize it himself; but an eager interest in him, and then a joy, 
was springing up in heaven among the Angels of God. At last he 
came within the range of a great Saint in a foreign country ; and, 
though he pretended not to acknowledge him, his attention was 
arrested by him, and he could not help coming to sacred places 
to look at him again and again. He began to watch him and 
speculate about him, and wondered with himself whether he was 
happy. He found himself frequently in church, listening to the 
holy preacher, and he once asked his advice how to find what he 
was seeking. And now a final conflict came on him with the 
flesh : it was hard, very hard, to part with the indulgences of years, 
it was hard to part and never to meet again. Oh, sin was so sweet, 
how could he bid it farewell ? how could he tear himself away 
from its embrace, and betake himself to that lonely and dreary 
way which led heavenwards? but God's grace was sweeter far, 
and it convinced him while it won him ; it convinced his reason, 
and prevailed ; — and he who without it would have lived and died 
a child of Satan, became under its wonder-working power, an 
oracle of sanctity and truth. (" Discourses to Mixed Congrega 
tions," p. 53.) 



ST. PHILIP NERI. 

My own special Father and Patron, St. Philip Neri, lived in an 
age as traitorous to the interests of Catholicism as any that pre- 
ceded it, or can follow it. He lived at a time when pride mounted 
high, and the senses held rule ; a time when kings and nobles 
never had more of state and homage, and never less of personal 
responsibility and peril; when mediaeval winter was receding 
and the summer sun of civilization was bringing into leaf and 
flower a thousand forms of luxurious enjoyment ; when a new 
world of thought and beauty had opened upon the human mind, in 
the discovery of the treasures of classic literature and art. He saw 
the great and the gifted, dazzled by the Enchantress, and drink- 
ing in the magic of her song ; he saw the high and the wise, tha 
student and the artist, painting, and poetry, and sculpture, and 



330 



Religious. — Catholicism. 



music, and architecture, drawn within her range, and circling 
round the abyss : he saw heathen forms mounting thence, and 
forming in the thick air : — all this he saw, and he perceived that 
the mischief was to be met, not with argument, not with science 
not with protests and warnings, not by the recluse or the preach- 
er, but by means of the great counter-fascination of purity and truth. 
He was raised up to do a work almost peculiar in the Church, 
— not to be a Jerome Savonarola, though Philip had a true devo- 
tion towards him and a tender memory of his Florentine house ; 
not to be a St, Charles, though in his beaming countenance Philip 
had recognized the aureol of a saint ; not to be a St. Ignatius, 
wrestling with the foe, though Philip was termed the Society's 
bell of call, so many subjects did he send to it ; not to be a St. 
Francis Xavier, though Philip had longed to shed his blood for 
Christ in India with him ; not to be a St. Caietan, or hunter of 
souls, for Philip preferred, as he expressed it, tranquilly to cast 
in his net to gain them ; he preferred to yield to the stream, and 
direct the current, which he could not stop, of science, literature, 
art, and fashion, and to sweeten and to sanctify what God had 
made very good and man had spoilt. 

And so he contemplated as the idea of his mission, not the pro- 
pagation of the faith, nor the exposition of doctrine, nor the 
catechetical schools ; whatever was exact and systematic pleased 
him not : he put from him monastic rule and authoritative speech, 
as David refused the armor of his king. No ; he would be but 
an ordinary individual priest as others : and his weapons should 
be but unaffected humility and unpretending love. All he did 
w r as to be done by the light, and fervor, and convincing eloquence 
of his personal character and his easy conversation. He came to 
the Eternal City and he sat himself down there, and his home and 
his family gradually grew up around him, by the spontaneous 
accession of materials from without. He did not so much seek 
his own as draw them to him, He sat in his small room, and 
they in their gay worldly dresses, the rich and the well-born, as 
well as the simple and the illiterate, crowded into it. In the 
mid-heats of summer, in the frosts of winter, still was he in that 
low and narrow cell at San Giralmo, reading the hearts of those 
who came to him, and curing their souls' maladies by the verv 
touch of his hand. It was a vision of the Magi worshipping the 
nfant Saviour, so pure and innocent, so sweet and beautiful was 



St. Philip Neri. 



33* 



he ; and so loyal and so dear to the gracious Virgin Mother 
And they who came remained gazing and listening, till at length, 
first one and then another threw off their bravery, and took his 
poor cassock and girdle instead : or, if they kept it, it was to put 
haircloth under it, or to take on them a rule of life, while to the 
world they look as before. 

In the words of his biographer, " he was all things to all men." 
He suited himself to noble and ignoble, young and old, subjects 
and prelates, learned and ignorant ; and received those w'ho 
were strangers to him with singular benignity, and embraced 
them with as much love and charity as if he had been a long while 
expecting them. When he was called upon to be merry, he was 
so ; if there was a demand upon his sympathy he was equally 
ready. He gave the same welcome to all : caresssing the poor 
equally with the rich, and wearying himself to assist all to the 
utmost limits of his power. In consequence of his being so acces- 
sible and willing to receive all comers, many went to him every 
day, and some continued for the space of thirty, nay forty years, to 
visit him very often both morning and evening, so that his room 
went by the agreeable nickname of the Home of Christian mirth. 
Nay, people came to him, not only from all parts of Italy, but from 
France, Spain, Germany, and all Christendom ; and even the in- 
fidels and Jews, who had ever any communication with him, 
revered him as a holy man. " * 

The first families of Rome, the Massimi, the Aldobrandini, the 
Colonnas, the Altieri, the Vitelleschi, were his friends and his 
penitents. Nobles of Poland, Grandees of Spain, Knights of 
Malta, could not leave Rome without coming to him. Cardinals, 
Archbishops, and Bishops were his intimates ; Federigo Bor- 
romeo haunted his room and got the name of " Father Philip's 
soul." The Cardinal-Archbishops of Verona and Bologna wrote 
books in his honor. Pope Pius the Fourth died in his arms 
Lawyers, painters, musicians, physicians, it was the same too 
with them. Baronius, Zazzara, and Ricci left the law at his 
bidding, and joined his congregation, to do its work, to write the 
annals of the Church, and to die in the odor of sanctity. Pales- 
trina had Father Philip's ministrations in his last moments. 
Animuccia hung about him during life, sent him a message after 



* Bacci, vol. 1. p. 19a ; 11. p. <)8. 



33* 



Religious. — Catholicism. 



death, and was conducted by him through Purgatory to Heaven. 
And who was he, I say, all the while, but an humble priest, a' 
stranger in Rome, with no distinction of family or letters, no 
claim of station or of office, great simply in the attraction with 
which a Divine Power had gifted him? and yet thus humble, 
thus unennobled, thus empty-handed, he has achieved the glorious 
title of Apostle of Rome. (" Idea of a University," p. 234.) 



MATER DEI. 

Mere Protestants have seldom any real perception of the doc- 
trine of God and man in one Person. They speak in a dreamy, 
shadowy way of Christ's divinity; but, when their meaning is 
sifted, you will find them very slow to commit themselves to any 
statement sufficient to express the Catholic dogma. They will 
tell you at once, that the subject is not to be enquired into, for 
that it is impossible to enquire into it at all, without being tech- 
nical and subtle. Then when they comment on the Gospels, they 
will speak of Christ, not simply and consistently as God, but as 
a being made up of God and man, partly one and partly the 
other, or between both, or as a man inhabited by a special 
divine presence. Sometimes they even go on to deny that He 
was the Son of God in heaven, saying that He became the Son 
when He was conceived of the Holy Ghost ; and they are shocked, 
and think it a mark both of reverence and good sense to be 
shocked, when they hear the Man spoken of simply and plainly 
as God. They cannot bear to have it said, except as a figure or 
mode of speaking, that God had a human body, or that God 
suffered; they think that the "Atonement," and " Sanctification 
through the Spirit," as they speak, is the sum and substance of 
the Gospel, and they are shy of any dogmatic expression which 
goes beyond them. Such, I believe, is the ordinary character of 
the Protestant notions among us on the divinity of Christ, whether 
among members of the Anglican communion, or dissenters fr©m 
it, excepting a small remnant of them. 

Now, if you would witness against these unchristian opinions, 
if you would bring out, distinctly and beyond mistake and evasion, 
the simple idea of the Catholic Church that God is man, could 
you doit better than, by laying down in St. John's words that 



Mater Dei, 



333 



" God became man"? and could you again express this more em- 
phatically and unequivocally than by declaring that He was born 
a man, or that He had a Mother? The world allows that God is 
man ; the admission costs it little, for God is everywhere, and (as 
it may say) is everything ; but it shrinks from confessing that 
God is the Son of Mary. It shrinks, for it is at once confronted 
with a severe fact, which violates and shatters its own unbelieving 
view of things; the revealed doctrine forthwith takes its true 
shape, and receives an historical reality; and the Almighty is in- 
.roduced into His own world at a certain time and in a definite 
way. Dreams are broken and shadows depart ; the divine truth 
is no longer a poetical expression, or a devotional exaggeration, 
or a mystical economy, or a mythical representation. " Sacrifice 
and offering," the shadows of the Law, " Thou wouldst not, 
but a body hast Thou fitted to Me." " That which was from the 
beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our 
eyes, which we have diligently looked upon, and our hands have 
handled," " That which we have seen and have heard, declare we 
unto you ;" — such is the record of the Apostle, in opposition to 
those " spirits" which denied that " Jesus Christ had appeared 
in the flesh," and which " dissolved " Him by denying either His 
human nature or His divine. And the confession that Mary is 
Deipara, or the Mother of God, is that safeguard wherewith we 
seal up and secure the doctrine of the Apostle from all evasion, 
and that test whereby we detect all the pretences of those bad 
spirits of " Antichrist which have gone out into the world." It 
declares that He is God ; it implies that He is man ; it suggests 
to us that He is God still, though he has become man, and that 
He is true man though he is God. By witnessing to the process 
of the union, it secures the reality of the two subjects of the union, 
of the divinity and of the manhood. If Mary is the Mother of 
God, Christ is understood to be Emmanuel, God with us. And 
hence it was, that, when time went on, and the bad spirits and 
false prophets grew stronger and bolder and found a way into the 
Catholic body itself, then the Church, guided by God, could find 
no more effectual and sure way of expelling them than that of 
using this word Deipara against them ; and, on the other hand, 
when they came up again from the realms of darkness, and 
plotted the utter overthrow of Christian faith in th£ sixteenth cen. 
tury, thfcn they' could find no more certain expedient for theitf 



334 



Religious. — Catholicism, 



hateful purpose thin that of reviling and blaspheming the prero- 
gatives of Mary, for they knew full sure that, if they could once 
get the world to dishonor the Mother, the dishonor of the Son 
would follow close. The Church and Satan agreed together in 
this, that Son and Mother went together ; and the experience of 
three centuries has confirmed their testimony ; for Catholics who 
have honored the Mother still worship the Son, while Protestants, 
who now have ceased to confess the Son, began then by scoffing 
at the Mother. ( " Discourses to Mixed Congregations," p. 346.) 



MATER PURISSIMA. 

Mary has been made more glorious in her person than in her 
office ; her purity is a higher gift than her relationship to God. 
This is what is implied in Christ's answer to the woman in the 
crowd, who cried out, when he was preaching, "Blessed is the 
womb that bare Thee, and the breasts which Thou hast sucked." 
He replied by pointing out to His disciples a higher blessedness • 
" Yea, rather blessed," He said, "are they who hear the word of 
God and keep it." . . Protestants take these words in disparage- 
ment of our Lady's greatness, but they really tell the other way, 
For consider them ; He lays down a principle, that it is more 
blessed to keep His commandments than to be His Mother ; but 
who even of Protestants will say that she did not keep His com- 
mandments? She kept them surely, and our Lord does but say 
that such obedience was in a higher line of privilege than her 
being His Mother ; she was more blessed in her detachment from 
creatures, in her devotion to God, in her virginal purity, in her 
fulness of grace, than in her maternity. This is the constant 
teaching of the Holy Fathers : " More blessed was Mary," says 
St. Augustine, " in receiving Christ's faith, than in conceiving 
Christ's flesh ; " and St. Chrysostom declares, that she would not 
have been blessed, though she had borne Him in the body, had 
she not heard the word of God and kept it. This of course is an 
impossible case ; for she was made holy, that she might be made 
His Mother, and the two blessednesses cannot be divided. She 
who was chosen to supply flesh and blood to the Eternal Word, 
was first filled with grace in soul and body ; still, she had a double 
blessedness, of office and of qualification for it, and the lattet 



Mater Purissima. 



335 



was the greater. And it is on this account that the Angel calls 
her blessed ; " Full of grace" he says, " blessed among women 
and St. Elizabeth also, when she cries out, 1 1 Blessed thou that 
hast believed" Nay, she herself bears a like testimony, when the 
Angel announced to her the favor which was coming on her. 
Though all Jewish women in each successive age had been 
hoping to be Mother of the Christ, so that marriage was honor- 
able among them, celibacy a reproach, she alone had put aside 
the desire and the thought of so great a dignity. She alone, who 
was to bear the Christ, all but refused to bear Him ; He stooped 
to her, she turned from Him ; and why? because she had been in- 
spired, the first of womankind, to dedicate her virginity to God, 
and she did not welcome a privilege which seemed to involve a 
forfeiture of her vow. How shall this be, she asked, seeing I am 
separate from man? Nor, till the Angel told her that the con- 
ception would be miraculous and from the Holy Ghost, did she 
put aside her " trouble " of mind, recognize him securely as God's 
messenger, and bow her head in awe and thankfulness to God's 
condescension. 

Mary then is a specimen, and more than a specimen, in the 
purity of her soul and body, of what man was before his fall, and 
what he would have been, had he risen to his full perfection. It 
had been hard, it had been a victory for the Evil One, had the 
whole race passed away, nor any one instance in it occurred to 
show what the Creator had intended it to be in its original state. 
Adam, you know, was created in the image and after the likeness 
of God ; his frail and imperfect nature, stamped with a divine 
seal, was supported and exalted by an indwelling of divine 
grace. Impetuous passion did not exist in him, except as a latent 
element and a possible evil ; ignorance was dissipated by the 
clear light of the Spirit ; and reason, sovereign over every motion 
of his soul, was simply subjected to the will of God. Nay, even 
his body was preserved from every wayward appetite and affec- 
tion, and was promised immortality instead of dissolution. Thus 
he was in a supernatural state ; and, had he not sinned, year 
after year would he have advanced in merit and grace, and in 
God's favor, till he passed from paradise to heaven. But he fell t 
and his descendants were born in his likeness ; and the world 
grew worse instead of better, and judgment after judgment cut 
off generations of sinners in vain, and improvement was hopeless 



33 6 



Religious — Catholicism. 



9t because man was flesh," and "the thoughts of his heart werfl 
bent upon evil at all times." But a remedy had been determined 
in heaven ; a Redeemer was at hand ; God was about to do a 
great work, and he purposed to do it suitably; '* where sin 
abounded, grace was to abound more." Kings of the earth, 
when they have sons born to them, forthwith scatter some large 
bounty, or raise some high memorial ; they honor the day, or the 
place, or the heralds of the auspicious event, with some corre- 
sponding mark of favor ; nor did the coming of Emmanuel inno- 
vate on the world's established custom. It was a season of grace 
and prodigy, and these were to be exhibited in a special manner 
in the person of His Mother. The course of ages was to be re- 
versed ; the tradition of evil was to be broken ; a gate of light 
was to be opened amid the darkness, for the coming of the Just ; 
—a Virgin conceived and bore Him. It was fitting, for His honor 
and glory, that she, who was the instrument of His bodily pre- 
sence, should first be a miracle of His grace ; it was fitting that 
she should triumph, where Eve had failed, and should 44 bruise 
the serpent's head " by the spotlessness of her sanctity. In some 
respects, indeed, the curse was not reversed ; Mary came into a 
fallen world, and resigned herself to its laws ; she, as also the 
Son she bore, was exposed to pain of soul and body ; she was 
subjected to death ; but she was not put under the power of sin. 
As grace was infused into Adam from the first moment of his 
creation, so that he never had experience of his natural poverty, 
till sin reduced him to it; so was grace given from the first in 
still ampler measure to Mary, and she never incurred, in fact, 
Adam's deprivation. She began where others end, whether in 
knowledge or in love. She was from the first clothed in sanctity, 
sealed for perseverance, luminous and glorious in God's sight, 
and incessantly employed in meritorious acts, which continued 
till her last breath. Hers was emphatically " the path of the just, 
which, as the shining light, goeth forward and increaseth even to 
the perfect day ;" and sinlessness in thought, word, and deed, in 
small things as well as great, in venial matter as well as grievous, 
is surely but the natural and obvious sequel of such a beginning. 
If Adam might have kopt himself from sin in his first state, much 
more shall we expect immaculate perfection in Mary, (" IMfr 
courses to Mixed Congregations/* 351 ) 



Hef upturn Peeeatorum. 



337 



REFUGIUM PECCATORUM. 

Such is her prerogative of sinless perfection, and it is, as her 
maternity, for the sake of Emmanuel ; hence she answered the 
angel's salutation " Gratia plena" with the humble acknowledg- 
ment, Ecce ancilla Domini^ " Behold the handmaid of the Lord/ 1 
And like to this is her third prerogative, which follows both from 
her maternity and from her purity, and which I will mention as 
completing the enumeration of her glories. I mean her inter- 
cessory power. For if " God heareth not sinners, but if a man 
be a worshipper of Him and do His will, him He heareth if 
•* the continual prayer of a just man availeth much ; " if faithful 
Abraham was required to pray for Abimelech, "for he was a 
prophet ; " if patient Job was to " pray for his friends, " for he had 
" spoken right things before God ; " if meek Moses, by lifting up 
his hands, turned the battle in favor of Israel, against Amalec ; 
why should we wonder at hearing that Mary, the only spotless 
child of Adam's seed, has a transcendent influence with the God 
of grace? And if the Gentiles at Jerusalem sought Philip, be- 
cause he was an apostle, when they desired access to Jesus, and 
Philip spoke to Andrew, as still more closely in our Lord's con- 
fidence, and then both came to Him, is it strange that the Mother 
should have power with the Son, distinct in kind from that of the 
purest angel and the most triumphant saint? If we have faith 
to admit the Incarnation itself, we must admit it in its fulness; 
why then should we start at the gracious appointments which 
arise out of it, or are necessary to it, or are included in it ? If the 
Creator comes on earth in the form of a servant and a creature, 
why may not his Mother on the other hand rise to be the Queen 
of heaven, and be clothed with the sun, and have the moon under 
her feet? (" Discourses to Mixed Congregations," p. 355.) 



SINE LABE ORIGINALI CONCEPTA. 

We should be prepared . . to believe that the Mother of God 
\s full of grace and glory, from the very fitness of such a dispen- 
6ation, even though we had not been taught it ; and this fitness 
will appear still more clear and certain when we contemplate the 
subject more steadily. Consider, then that it has been the ordi- 



338 



Religious.— Catholicism. 



»ary rule of God's dealings with us, that personal sanctity should 
be the attendant upon high spiritual dignity of place or work. 
The angels, who, as the word imports, are God's messengers, are 
also perfect in holiness; " without sanctity no one shall see 
God ;" no denied thing can enter the courts of heaven ; and the 
higher its inhabitants are advanced in their ministry about the 
hrone. the holier are they, and the more absorbed in their con- 
templation of that Holiness upon which they wait. The Sera- 
phim, who immediately surround the Divine Glory, cry day and 
night, " Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God of Hosts/' So is it also on 
earth ; the prophets have ordinarily not only gifts, but graces ; 
they are not only inspired to know and to teach God's will, but 
inwardly converted to obey it. For surely those only can preach 
the truth duly, who feel it personally ; those only transmit it fully 
from God to man, who have in the transmission made it their 
own. 

I do not say that there are no exceptions to this rule, but they 
admit of an easy explanation ; I do not say that it never pleases 
Almighty God to convey any intimation of His will through bad 
men ; of course, for all things can be made to serve Him. By 
all, even the wicked, He accomplishes His purposes, and by the 
wicked He is glorified. Our Lord's death was brought about by 
His enemies, who did His will, while they thought they were 
gratifying their own. Caiaphas, who contrived and effected it, 
was made use of to predict it. 

Balaam prophesied good of God's people in an earlier age, by 
a divine compulsion, when he wished to prophesy evil. This is 
true ; but in such cases Divine Mercy is plainly overruling the 
evil, and manifesting his power, without recognizing or sanction- 
ing the instrument. And again, it is true, as he tells us Himself, 
that in the last day " Many shall say, Lord, Lord, have we not 
prophesied in Thy Name, and in Thy Name cast out devils, and 
done many miracles ? " and that he shall answer, " I never knew 
you." This, I say, is undeniable ; it is undeniable first, that 
those who have prophesied in God's Name may afterwards fall 
from God, and lose their souls. Let a man be ever so holy. now, 
he may fall away; and, as present grace is no pledge of perse- 
verance, much less are present gifts ; but how does this show 
that gifts and graces do not commonly go together ? Again, it is 
undeniable that those who have had miraculous gifts may never- 



Sine Labe Originali Conecpia. 



339 



theless have never been in God's favor, not even when they exer 
cised them ; as I will explain presently. But I am now speaking, 
not of having gifts, but of being prophets. To be a prophet is 
something much more personal than to possess gifts. It is a 
sacred office, it implies a mission, and is the high distinction, not 
;*f the enemies of God but of His friends. Such is the Scripture 
rule. Who was the first prophet and preacher of justice? Enoch, 
who walked " by faith," and " pleased God," and was taken from 
a rebellious world. Who was the second? "Noe," who " con- 
demned the world, and was made heir of the justice which is 
through faith." Who was the next greaj prophet ? Moses, the 
lawgiver of the chosen people, who was the " meekest of all men 
who dwell on the earth." Samuel comes next, who served the 
Lord from his infancy in the Temple ; and then David, who, if he 
fell into sin, repented, and was "a man after God's heart." And 
in like manner Job, Elias, Isaias, Jeremias, Daniel, and above 
them all St. John Baptist, and then again St. Peter, St. Paul, St. 
John, and the rest, are all especial instances of heroic virtue, and 
patterns to their brethren. Judas is the exception, but this was 
by a particular dispensation to enhance our Lord's humiliation 
and suffering. 

Nature itself witnesses to this connection between sanctity and 
truth. It anticipates that the fountain from which pure doctrine 
comes should itself be pure ; that the seat of divine teaching, and 
the oracle of faith, should be the abode of angels ; that the conse- 
crated home, in which the word of God is elaborated, and whence 
it issues forth for the salvation of the many, should be holy as 
that word is holy. Here you see the difference of the office of a 
prophet and a mere gift, such as that of miracles. Miracles are 
the simple and direct work of God ; the worker of them is but an 
instrument or organ. And in consequence he need not be holy, 
because he has not, strictly speaking, a share in the work. So 
again the power of administering the Sacraments, which also is 
supernatural and miraculous, does not imply personal holiness ; 
nor is there anything surprising in God's giving to a bad man 
this gift, or the gift of miracles, any more than in his giving him 
any natural talent or gift, strength or agility of frame, eloquence, 
or medical skill. It is otherwise with the office of preaching 
and prophesying, and to this I have been referring ; for the 
truth first goes into the minds of the speakers, and is apprehended 



340 



Religious \ — Catholicism. 



and fashioned there, and then comes out from them as, in one 
sense, its source and its parent. The divine word is begotten in 
them, and the offspring has their features and tells of them. They 
are not like the "dumb animal, speaking with man's voice," on 
which Balaam rode, a mere instrument of God's word, but they 
have " received an unction from the Holy One, and they know all 
things," and " where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty 
and while they deliver what they have received, they enforce what 
they feel and know. " We have known and believed" says St. 
John, " the charity which God hath to us." 

So has it been all through the history of the Church ; Moses 
does not write as David ; nor Isaias as Jeremias ; nor St. John as 
St. Paul. And so of the great Doctors of the Church, St. Atha- 
nasius, St. Augustine, St. Ambrose, St. Leo, St. Thomas, each 
has his own manner, each speaks his own words, though he 
speaks the while the words of God. They speak from themselves, 
they speak in their own persons, they speak from the heart, from 
their own experience, with their own arguments, with their own 
deductions, with their own modes of expression. How can you 
fancy such hearts, such feelings to be unholy ? how could it be so, 
without defiling, and thereby nullifying, the word of God ? If 
one drop of corruption makes the purest water worthless, as the 
slightest savor of bitterness spoils the most delicate viands, how 
can it be that the word of truth and holiness can proceed profit- 
ably from impure lips and an earthly heart ? No, as is the tree, 
so is the fruit; " beware of false prophets," says our Lord ; and 
then He adds, "from their fruits shall ye know them. Do men 
gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles?" Is it not so, my 
brethren? Which of you would go to ask counsel of another, 
however learned, however gifted, however aged, if you thought 
him unholy? nay, though you feel and are sure, as far as absolu- 
tion goes, that a bad priest could give it as really as a holy 
priest, yet for advice, for comfort, for instruction, you would not 
%o to one whom you did not respect. " Out of the abundance of 
the heart, the mouth speaketh ;" "a good man out of the good 
treasure of his heart bringeth good, and an evil man out of the 
evil treasure bringeth forth evil." 

So then is it in the case of the soul ; and so is it with the body 
also ; as the offspring of holiness is holy in the instance of spirit 
tual births, so is it in the instance of physical. The child is like 



Sine Labe Otiginali Concepta. 



34* 



the parent. Mary was no mere instrument in God's dispensa- 
tion ; the word of God did not merely come to her and go from 
her ; He did not merely pass through her, as he may pass through 
us in Holy Communion ; it was no heavenly body which the Eter- 
nal Son assumed, fashioned by the Angels, and brought down ta 
this lower world : no : He imbibed, He sucked up her blood and 
her substance into His Divine Person ; He became man of her; 
and received her lineaments and her features, as the appearance 
and character under which he should manifest himself to the 
world. He was known, doubtless, by his likeness to her, to be 
her Son. Thus His Mother is the first of Prophets, for of her 
came the Word bodily ; she is the sole oracle of Truth, for the 
Way, the Truth, and the Life vouchsafed to be her Son ; she is 
the one mould of Divine Wisdom, and in that mould it was in- 
delibly cast. Surely then, if the " first fruit be holy, the mass also 
is holy ; and if the root be holy, so are the branches. " It was 
natural, it was fitting, that so it should be ; it was congruous that, 
whatever the Omnipotent could work in the person of the finite, 
should be wrought in her. I say, if the Prophets must be holy, 
*' to whom the word of God comes," what shall we say of her; 
who was so specially favored, that the true and substantial Word, 
and not His shadow or His voice, was not merely made in her, 
but born of her? who was not merely the organ of God's mes- 
sage, but the origin of his human existence, the living fountain 
from which He drew His most precious blood, and the material 
of His most holy flesh ? Was it not fitting, beseemed it not, that 
the Eternal Father should prepare her for this ministration by 
some pre-eminent sanctification ? Do not earthly parents act 
thus by their children? do they put them out to strangers? do 
they commit them to any chance person to suckle them ? Sha.ll 
even careless parents show a certain tenderness and solicitude in 
this matter, and shall not God himself show it, when He commits 
His Eternal Word to the custody of man ? It was to be expected 
then that, if the Son was God, the Mother should be as worthy of 
Him, as creature can be worthy of Creator ; that grace should 
have in her its "perfect work;" that, if she bore the Eternal 
Wisdom, she should be that created wisdom in whom "is all the 
grace of the Way and the Truth ;" that if she was the Mother of 
44 fair love, and fear, and knowledge, and holy hope," " she should 
give an odor like cinnamon and balm, and sweetness like to 



542 



Religious. — Catholicism. 



choice myrrh." Can we set bounds to the holiness of her who 
was the Mother of the Holiest ? 

Such, then, is the truth ever cherished in the deep heart of the 
Church, and witnessed by the keen apprehension of her children, 
that no limits but those proper to a creature can be assigned to 
the sanctity of Mary. Did Abraham believe that a son should be 
born to him of his aged wife ? then Mary's faith was greater when 
she accepted Gabriel's message. Did Judith consecrate her 
widowhood to God to the surprise of her people? much more did 
Mary, from her first youth, devote her virginity. Did Samuel, 
when a child, inhabit the Temple, secluded from the world? 
Mary, too, was by her parents lodged in the same holy precincts, 
at the age when children begin to choose between good and evil. 
Was Solomon on his death called "dear to the Lord?" and shall 
not the destined Mother of God be dear to Him, from the moment 
she was born? But further still ; St. Tohn Baptist was sanctified 
by the Spirit before his birth ; shall Mary be only equal to him ? 
is it not fitting that her privileges should surpass his? is it won- 
derful, if grace, which anticipated his birth by three months, 
should in her case run up to the very first moment of her being, 
outstrip the imputation of sin, and be beforehand with the usurpa- 
tion of Satan? Mary must surpass all the Saints; the very fact 
that certain privileges are known to have been theirs, proves to 
us at once, from the necessity of the case, that she had the same 
and higher.* Her conception then was immaculate, in order 
that she might surpass all Saints in the date as well as the fulness 
of her sanctification. (" Discourses to Mixed Congregations,' 
P. 365.) 

* [On this subject see the Letter to Dr. Pusey, which now forms Part II. of 
"Anglican Difficulties." I subjoin an extract from it : 4i It is to me a most strange 
phenomenon that so many learned and devout men stumble at this doctrine ; 
and I can only account for it by supposing that in matter of fact they do not 
know what we mean by the Immaculate Conception. ... It has no reference 
whatever to her parents, but simply to her own person ; it does but affirm, 
ihat together with the nature she inherited from her own parents, that is, her 
own nature, she had a superadded fulness of grace, and that from the first mo- 
ment of her existence. . . . But it may be said, How does this enable us to say 
that she was conceived without original sin ? If Anglicans knew what we mean 
by original sin. they would not ask the question. 1 Original sin,' with us, cannot 
be called sin. in the mere ordinary sense of the word k sin ' ; it is a term denoting 
A-dam's sin as transferred to us, or the state to which Adam's sin reduces his chil- 
dren ; but by Protestants it seems to be understood as sin, in much the same sense 



Maria Assumpia. 



343 



MARIA ASSUMPTA. 

It was surely fitting, it was becoming, that she should be taken 
up into heaven and not lie in the grave till Christ's second com- 
ing, who had passed a life of sanctity and of miracles such as 
hers, All the works of God are in a beautiful harmony ; they 
are carried on to tne end as they begin. This is the difficulty 
which men of the world find in believing miracles at all ; they 
think these break the order and consistency of God's visible 
world, not knowing that they do but subserve to a higher order 
of things, and introduce a supernatural perfection. 

But at least, when one miracle is wrought, it may be expected to 
draw others after it for the completion of what is begun. Miracles 
must be wrought for some great end ; and if the course of things 
fell back again into a natural order before its termination, how 
could we but feel a disappointment ? and if we were told that this 
certainly was to be, how could we but judge the information im- 
probable and difficult to believe ? Now this applies to the history 
of our Lady. I say, it would be a greater miracle, if, her life being 

as actual sin. We, with the Fathers, think of it as something negative, Pro- 
testants as something positive. Protestants hold that it is a disease, a radical 
change of nature, an active poison internally corrupting the soul, infecting its pri- 
mary elements, and disorganizing it ; and we fancy that they ascribe a different 
nature from ours to the Blessed Virgin, different from that of her parents, and 
from that of fallen Adam. We hold nothing of the kind : we consider that in 
Adam she died, as others ; that she was included, together with the whole race, in 
Adam's sentence ; that she incurred his debt, as we do ; but that, for the sake of 
Him who was to redeem her and us upon the Cross, to her the debt was remitted 
by anticipation, on her the sentence was not carried out, except indeed as regards 
her natural death, for she died when her time came, as others. All this we teach, 
but we deny that she had original sin ; for by original sin we mean, as I have al- 
ready said, something negative, viz., this only, the deprivation of that superna- 
tural unmerited grace which Adam and Eve had on their first formation, — depri- 
ration and the consequences of deprivation. Mary could not merit, any more 
than they, the restoration of that grace ; but it was restored to her by God's free 
bounty, from the very first moment of her existence, and thereby, in fact, she 
never came under the original curse, which consisted in the loss of it. And 
she had this special privilege, in order to fit her to become the Mother of her and 
our Redeemer, to fit her mentally, spiritually for it ; so that, by the aid of the first 
grace, she might so grow in grace, that, when the Angel came and her Lord was at 
hand, she might be k full of grace,' prepared as far as a creature could be prepared, 
to receive Him into her bosom." (" Anglican Difficulties," p. 396.)] 



544 



Religious, — Catholicism. 



what it was, her death was like that of other men, than if it were 
such as to correspond to her life. Who can conceive that God 
should so repay the debt, which He condescended to owe to His 
Mother, for the elements of His human Body, as to allow the flesh 
and blood from which it was taken to moulder in the grave? Do 
the sons of men thus deal with their mothers ? do they not nourish 
and sustain them in their feebleness, and keep them in life while 
they are able? Or who can conceive that that virginal frame, 
which never sinned, was to undergo the death of a sinner? Why 
should she share the curse of Adam, who had no share in his fall ? 
" Dust thou art, and into dust thou shalt return," was the sentence 
upon sin ; she then, who was not a sinner, fitly never saw cor- 
ruption. She died then because even our Lord and Saviour died ; 
she died, as she suffered, because she was in this world, because 
she was in a state of things in which suffering and death are the 
rule. She lived under their external sway ; and, as she obeyed 
Caesar by coming for enrolment to Bethlehem, so did she, when 
God willed it, yield to the tyranny of death, and was dissolved 
into soul and body, as well as others. But though she died as 
well as others, she died not as others die ; for, through the merits 
of her Son, by whom she was what she was, by the grace of Christ 
which in her had anticipated sin, which had filled her with light, 
which had purified her flesh from all defilement, she had been 
saved from disease and malady, and all that weakens and de- 
cays the bodily frame. Original sin had not been found in her, 
by the wear of her senses, and the waste of her frame, and the de- 
crepitude of years, propagating death. She died, but her death 
was a mere fact, not an effect ; and, when it was over, it ceased 
to be. She died that she might live ; she died as a matter of 
form or (as I may call it) a ceremony, in order to fulfil, what is 
called, the debt of nature, — not primarily for herself or because 
of sin, but to submit herself to her condition, to glorify God, to 
do what her Son did ; not, however, as her Son and Saviour, with 
any suffering for any special end ; not with a martyr's death, for 
her martyrdom had been in living ; not as an atonement, for man 
could not make it, and One had made it and made it for all ; but 
in order to finish her course, and to receive her crown. 

And therefore she died in private. It became Him who died for 
the world, to die in the world's sight ; it became the great Sacri. 
See to be lifted up on high, as a light that could not be hid. Bui 



Growth of the Cultus of Mary. 



345 



ihe, the lily of Eden, who had always dwelt out of the sight of 
man, fittingly did she die in the garden's shade, and amid the 
sweet flowers in which she had lived. Her departure made no 
noise in the world. The Church went about her common duties, 
preaching, converting, suffering ; there were persecutions, there 
was fleeing from place to place, there were martyrs, there were 
triumphs ; at length the rumor spread abroad that the Mother of 
God was no longer upon earth. Pilgrims went to and fro ; they 
sought for her relics, but they found them not ; did she die at 
Ephesus? or did she die at Jerusalem? reports varied ; but her 
tomb could not be pointed out, or if it was found, it was open ; 
and instead of her pure and fragrant body, there was a growth of 
lilies from the earth which she had touched. So, enquirers went 
home marvelling, and waiting for further light. And then it was 
said how that when her dissolution was at hand, and her soul was 
to pass in triumph before the judgment-seat of her Son, the Apos- 
tles were suddenly gathered together in one place, even in the 
Holy City, to bear part in the joyful ceremonial ; how that they 
buried her with fitting rites; how that the third day, when they 
came to the tomb, they found it empty, and angelic choirs with 
their glad voices were heard singing day and night the glories of 
their risen Queen. But, however we feel towards the details of 
this history (nor is there anything in it which will be unwelcome 
or difficult to piety), so much cannot be doubted, from the consent 
of the whole Catholic world and the revelations made to holy 
souls, that, as is befitting, she is, soul and body, with her Son 
and God in heaven, and that we are enabled to celebrate, not only 
her death, but her Assumption. (" Discourses to Mixed Congre- 
gations," p. 375.) 



GROWTH OF THE CULTUS OF MARY. 

One word more, and I have done ; I have shown you how full 
of meaning are the truths themselves which the Church teaches 
concerning the Most Blessed Virgin, and now consider how full 
of meaning also has been the Church's dispensation of them. 

You will find, then, in this respect, as in Mary's prerogatives 
themselves, there is the same careful reference to the glory of 
Him who gave them to her. You know, when first He went out 



346 



Religious. — Catholicism. 



to preach, she kept apart from Him ; she interfered net with His 
work ; and even when He was gone upon high, yet she, a woman, 
went not out to preach or teach, she seated not herself in the 
Apostolic chair, she took no part in the Priest's office ; she did but 
humbly seek her Son in the daily Mass of those, who, though hei 
ministers in heaven, were her superiors in the Church on earth. 
Nor, when she and they had left this lower scene, and she was a 
Queen upon her Son's right hand, not even then did she ask of Hira 
to publish her name to the ends of the world, or to hold her up to 
the world's gaze, but she remained waiting for the time when her 
own glory should be necessary for His. He indeed had been 
from the very first proclaimed by Holy Church, and enthroned in 
His temple, for he was God ; ill had it beseemed the living Oracle 
of Truth to have withholden from the faithful the very object of 
their adoration ; but it was otherwise with Mary. It became her, 
as a creature, a mother, and a woman, to stand aside and make 
way for the Creator, to minister to her Son, and to win her way 
into the world's homage by sweet and gracious persuasion. So 
when His name was dishonored, then it was that she did Him ser* 
vice ; when Emmanuel was denied, then the Mother of God (as it 
were) came forward ; when heretics said that God was not incar- 
nate, then was the time for her own honors. And then, when as 
much as this had been accomplished, she had done with strife, 
she fought not for herself. No fierce controversy, no persecuted 
confessors, no heresiarch, no anathema, marks the history of her 
manifestation ; as she had increased day by day in grace and 
merit, while the world knew not of it, so has she raised herself 
aloft silently, and has grown into her place in the Church by a 
tranquil influence and a natural process. It was as some fair tree, 
stretching forth her fruitful branches and her fragrant leaves, and 
overshadowing the territory of the Saints. And thus the Anti- 
phon speaks of her : " Let thy dwelling be in Jacob, and thine in- 
heritance in Israel, and strike thy roots in My elect." Again, 
" And so in Sion was I established, and in the holy city I like- 
wise rested, ancl in Jerusalem was my power. And I took root in 
an honorable people, and in the glorious company of the Saints 
was I detained. I was exalted like a cedar in Lebanus, and as a 
cypress in Mount Sion ; I have stretched out my branches as the 
terebinth, and my branches are of honor and of grace." Thus 
svas she reared without hands, and gained a modest victory, 



Growth of the Cultus of Mary. 



347 



and exerts a gentle sway, which she has not claimed. When dis 
pute arose about her among her children, she hushed it ; when 
objections were urged against her, she waived her claims and 
tvaited ; till now, in this very day, should God so will, she wiL 
win at length her most radiant crown, and, without opposing 
voice, and amid the jubilation of the whole Church, she will be 
held as immaculate in her conception.* 

Such are thou, Holy Mother, in the creed and in the worship 
of the Church, the defence of many truths, the grace and smiling 
light of every devotion. In thee, O Mary, is fulfilled, as we can 
bear it, an original purpose of the Most High. He once had 
meant to come on earth in heavenly glory, but we sinned ; and 
then he could not safely visit us, except with shrouded radiance 
and a bedimmed majesty, for He was God. So He came Himself 
in weakness, not in power; and He sent thee a creature in His 
stead, with a creature's comeliness and lustre suited to our state. 
And now thy very face and form, dear Mother, speak to us of the 
Eternal'; not like earthly beauty, dangerous to look upon, but 
like the morning star, which is thy emblem, bright and musical, 
breathing purity, telling of heaven, and infusing peace. O har- 
binger of day ! O hope of the pilgrim ! lead us still as thou hast 
led ; in the dark night, across the bleak wilderness, guide us on 
to our Lord Jesus, guide us home. 

Maria, mater gratiae, 
Dulcis parens clementiae, 
Tu nos ab hoste protege 
Et mortis horl suscipe. 

(" Discourses to Mixed Congregations," p. 357.) 

* Since this sermon was published, 1849, the Immaculate Conception of th# 
Blessed Virgin has been made a dogma of the Church. 



INDEX. 



PAGE 

Abelard 155 

Adam, state of, in Paradise^ . . 335 
Alexandrian School, the influence 

of, on Doctor Newman . . .27 
Alison's History of Europe quoted . 84 
Alphonso Liguori. St. ; his Sermons . 53 
on probable opinion" in ad- 
ministering a Sacrament . . 217 
Angels, the . . . . 28,78 
Anglicans, and Monophysites, par- 
allel between . m . . . .46 
and Semi-Arians, parallel be- 
tween • 5 1 

and the " Branch Theory " . 208 

Invincible Ignorance among . 254 

Anglican Church, the, seen from 
without . . . .60, 210 

Orders 213 

Clergy, the, and the Eucha- 
rist 64 

Ordinances .... 223 

— View of the visible Church . 207 
— — paradox, the .... 210 

argument from differences 

among Catholics, the . . . 247 

objections from Antiquity . 249 

Anglicanism and Catholicism . 259 
Anglo-Catholic or Patristico-Prot- 

estant? . . . • 240 

Apostolic Succession, the . . 219 

not an Anglican tradition . 63 

" Arians of the Fourth Century," 
the . . . . . . • .26 

Army, a Constitutional . . . 133 
Assumption of Our Lady, the . m . 343 
Atheism and Catholicity, no logical 

medium between . . 55, 273 

Athens 144 

B. 

Bacon, his mission . • • • 108 

His moral littleness . • . 109 

Bede, St., the death of . 153 
Benediction of the Blessed Sacra- 
ment , . . - . . 289, 294 



PACT 

Benedict, St., his rule • » . 149 
Benedict XIV., quoted • • .217 
" bible Keligion " . . . . x88 
Bishop, Dr. Newman's obedience to 

his . . . < . . .35 
Bishops, the Anglican, charge 
against Dr. Newman . . 51 

have for three centuries lived 

and died in heresy . . . 216 
shudder at assuming real epis- 
copal power 218 

have lost the habit of blessing . 236 

are wont to be valiant towards 

the submissive .... 239 
Bishopric, the Jerusalem . . 51 
Blomfield, Hp., dilutes the high 
orthodoxy of the Establishment . 29 

on the Apostolical Succession . 29 

Bowden, John William . . .20 

his life of St. Gregory VII., 

quoted ...... 159 

" Branch Theory," the . . . 208 
Bunyan, John, his last words . . 208 
Busenbaum, on involuntary igno- 
rance 255 

Butler, Bp., his M Analogy " . . 17 

Dr Newman's obligations to . 18 

referred to • . . • . xoa 

C. 

Carnival, the . • 36 

Catholicism, an incommunicable 
name 169 

state of, in England from the 

sixteenth to the nineteenth cen- 
tury . . . . m . .175 

re-establishment of its hier- 
archy in England .... 178 

a different religion from An- 
glicanism . . . . . 259 

and the Religions of the 

World . . . 260 

and Atheism ; no logical alter- 
native between .... 273 

Catholics, Private Judgment among 279 

the religion of ... 288 



349 



Index, 



PAGE 

Catholics, the privileges of . . 290 

"popular" .... 3(6 

* bad . . . . . 319 

Certitude in religious enquiry ar- 
rived at by accumulated proba- 
bilities . . . . . 23, 56 
Child, a, his apprehension of God . 119 
Chiliingworth quoted . . . 220 
Christianity, "our common" . . 102 

""muscular" .... 191 

M Christian Year," the . . 234 

Church, the Catholic, a reality . 60 

and the World, origin of the 

warfare between . . . .99 

vitality of 174 

" resurrection " of . . . 180 

alone possesses real internal 

unity 262 

does not permit her children to 

doubt her word .... 263 

dispositions for joining . . 270 

the aim of 281 

scandals in . . . . .315 

not based upon her Orders . 222 

the Anglican, what it is 61,210,261 

what it is not . . . .61 

national jealousy of . . . 133 

duties of Catholics towards . 63 

Churches, Catholic, soothing influ- 
ences of 32, 37 

Coleridge, F., Letter to, on Anglican 

Orders 63 

Condescension . . . . . 91 
Confession, natural to the Catho- 
lic . • . • • • . • 97 

what it is in fact . . . 295 

abuse of .... 319 

Conscience, a connecting principle 
between the creature and his Cre- 
ator 116 

voice of . . -95 

Conversions, a Protestant view of . 197 
Convert, a ..... 275 

the World's view of . . . 267 

Conviction, a state of mind . 272 

Copleston, Dr, ... 19 
Corruptions, Roman (so-called) , 253 
Counsels of Perfection . • . 296 
Culture, ethics of . • « .90 
and vice • ■ • 95 

D. 

Development of Doctrines the prin- 
ciple of 54, 253 

Essay on 57 

Devotion, liberty accorded to the 
private judgment and inclination 
of Catholics regarding . . , 277 
Divine Calls, Sermon on . .49 
Doctrine, Catholic, integrity of _ . 291 
Dogma, the fundamental principle 
of Dr. Newman's religion . . 34 
* - growth of definitions of . . 253 



PAGB 

• 57 

. 2C3 

. 303 



Dominic, Father 

Doubt, difficult for a Catholic . 

Douglas, on Miracles, quoted 

E. 



Education, Intellectual, what it is . 71 
England, Catholicism in, from the 
sixteenth to nineteenth century . 175 

the religious history of . . 160 

the Church of . . . 60,210 

its life 

261 
63 

*33 
192 



its form ..... 

a serviceable breakwater . . 

English horror of Catholicism 

jealousy of Church and Army . 

religious ideas .... 

Ex-Cathedr& _ judgment of the 
Pope, requisites for 159 

F. 

Faith, the Principle of 127 

in the Catholic Church ^ . . 263 

implies a confidence in the 

truth of the thing believed . . 264 

in any other I hurch than the 

Catholic, impossible . . . 259 

easy to a Catholic . . . 268 

and' Devotion .... 276 

Fouque quoted .... 109 
Froude, Hurrell. brings Dr. New- 
man and Mr. Keble together . ai 

his high gifts . . . .25 

his religious opinions . . 25 

his influence on Dr. New- 
man ..... 26, 30, 37 

travels with Dr. Newman in 

the South of Europe . . .30 



Gentleman, definition of a . .93 
Gibbon, his ,k Five Causes " . . 124 
Gilpin, Eernard. quoted . . . 37 
God. the idea of ... 103 
the. of Monotheism and the 

God of Rationalism . . . 113 
easy to use the word and mean 

nothing by it . . . . . 114 
apprehension of, through the 

conscience . . . . 116 

Grace, the Catholic teaching, on 

the subject of .... 225 
Gregory, St., VII., his death . . 159 
Gregory Nyssen, St., his account of 

an apparition of Our Lady . , 305 

H. 

Hallahan, Mother Margaret Mary . 85 
Hampden, t Dr., his M Observations 

on Religious Dissent . . .38 
Harmony of the works of God 301, 343 



Index. 



3S» 



PAGE 

Harvey, Mr., his death . . . 230 
Hawkins, Dr., Dr. Newman's obli- 
gations to 17 

High Church party, the . . . 232 
Holy See, the practical wisdom of . 309 

obligations of Catholics to . 310 

— its action with regard to Ire- 
land _ 139 

Hume, his argument against mira- 
cles 122 

Humility, the virtue of . . .91 

I. 

Ignatius, St., his Epistles quoted . 35 
Ignatius Loyola, St., his Exercises . 52 
Ignorance, invincible . . . 254 
Illative faculty the . . . .83 
Immaculate Conception, the . . 342 
Incarnation, the, the greatest of 

miracles 301 

Infallibility of the Pope, antecedent 
argument for the .... 306 

not affected by his personal or 

temporary errors . . 159, 323 
Inaccuracy of mind . . .72 
Intellect, the ordinary sin of the . 96 
Intellectual education, what it is . 71 
— — man, popular conception of an . 73 
— — obstructions . . . .87 
Intuition . . 83 
Invincible ignorance and Anglican- 
ism 254 

Ireland, why annexed by the Pope 

to England 138 

Irish discontent .... 136 

the, tyrannically oppressed by 

Protestantism .... 139 



Jerusalem Bishopric, the . • • 51 

John Baptist, St 323 

John Evangelist, St. 324 

Johnson, D., his Rambler . . 73 

Joseph. St., the cultus of . . 278 

— why exalted by the Catho- 
lic Church 288 

K. 

Keble, John, the true author of the 
Tractarian Movement . . .20 

— Dr. Newman's introduction to 21 
• effect of his teaching on Dr. 

Newman ..... 21 
- — his Christian Year . • . 2I i 2 34 
— — what he did for the Anglican 

Church 236 



Lacordaire, Dr. Newman's admira- 
tion of 



19 



Liberalism, what Dr. Newman 

means by she term . . . 19, 34 
attacks the old orthodoxy of 



38 

240 

sis 
3» 



Oxford 

Liberal view of Christianity . 187 
Liberius, Pope . 
Littledale. Dr . 
Lyra Apostolica 

M. 



Macaulay, Lord, on Bacon's phi- 
losophy 10 8 

on the Apostolical succession . 220 

on Transubstantiation . . 292 

Machyn and his Diary . . . 214 
Mary, the Blessed Virgin, Italian 
devotional manifestations in honor 

of 53 

why exalted .... 288 

the earliest recorded appari- 



tion of 

"Mother of God" . 

her purity . . , 

her intercessory power 

her Immaculate Conception 

her Assumption . . 

growth of her cultus 

Mary .Magdalen, St. . 

Mary vale 179 

Mass, the 293 

Mayers, the Rev. W. . . .15 
Meditation, why prized by Ca- 
tholics 

Miller's Bampton Lectures 
Milner, Joseph, his Church History 

— Hp . 

Mind, the laws of, the expression of 
the Divine will .... 
Miracles . 
Monachism, Early . 
Montalembert . 
More, Sir Thomas 
Muscular Christianity 



305 

332 
334 
337 
337 
343 
345 
325 



77 
23 
16 
179 



87 
298 
149 

19 
293 
191 



N. 

Napoleon . . . -84 

Nativities, the three sinless . . 324 
Newman. John Henry, his early re- 
ligious impressions . ^ . '15 

obligations to Dr. Hawkins . 17 

obligations to Bp. Butler . 17 

obligations to Dr. Whately . x8 

first years of residence at Oriel 19 

introduction to Mr Keble . 20 

obligations to Mr. Keble . . 21 

obligations to Hurrell Froude . 25 

obligations to the Fathers . 26 

travels in the South of Europe, 30 

illness in Sicily . _ . . .31 

— - begins to visit Catholic 
churches ...... 



35* 



Index. 



PAGE 

Newman, John Henry, begins the 

1 Tracts For the Times " . .33 
— — his religious principles in 1833 . 34 

admiration for Dr. Pusey _ ^ . 38 

— — the happiest part of his life in 

a human point of view . . .41 
— — publishes Tract XC. . ^ . 42 
— — his place in the Tractarian 
Movement gone . . . .44 

his first doubts of the tenable- 

ness of Anglicanism . . .46 
— ■ — misgivings . • . .46 

three further blows . . .50 

— — transition state . . .52 

what it was that converted 

him 250, 253 

reception . . . . 58 

——called to Rome by Pius IX. . 314 
establishment of the Birming- 
ham and London Oratories .314 
— his state of mind since his re- 
ception 59 

Newton, Sir Isaac .... 83 
Non-jurors, the . • 244 

Northman and Norman . . . 142 
Notions, our, of things, merely as- 
pects of them. .... 78 
—— arithmetical, inapplicable to 

the Supreme feeing . . . 78 
Numeration issues in nonsense un- 
less conducted under conditions . 78 

O. 

Obstructions, intellectual • . 87 
Orders, Anglican . . • 63, 213 
Ordinances. Anglican . . . 223 
Ordinations, heretical, their doubt- 
fulness 216 

44 Orley Farm " quoted . . .83 
Oxford 148 

P. 

Paley quoted ^ . . . . 126, 128 
Parnell's Hermit referred to . • 101 
Passions, the, how apprehended . 75 
Periodical publications, reason of 

their influence .... 192 
* HeverU of the Peak " quoted . 84 
Phaeton in the chariot of the sun . 3S 

Philip Neri, St 329 

predicts the election of St. 

PiusV. . . . . . .162 

Pius, St., V., his election . . . 161 

his character .... 162 

his reply to the Count della 

Tnnita 163 

— - his hostility to the Turkish 

power 164 

——his supernatural knowledge of 

the victory of l.epanto . .165 
Pius IX. , obligation of English Ca- . 

tholics to . . . . .3x4 



Poetry, what it is . . . .234 

Pope, the, thought by Dr. Newman 
to be Antj-Christ . . .16, 36 

this view the only controver- 
sial basis^ of Protestantism . . 37 

what is required for an ex-Ca- 

thed* d judgment of . . . j 5 g 

— — antecedent argument for the 
infallibility of .... 306 

his infallibility not affected by 

persona^ or temporary errors . 323 

practical wisdom of . . 138, 

169, 309 

obligations of Catholics to .310 

— English Catholics and the 

present 3x4 

Popery, Protestant notions of . . 199 
Preacher, the popular, his unwor- 
thy use of the Sacred Volume . 77 
Pride, how utilized by philosophy . 92 
Principles, First . . .89 

Protestant, on miracles . . 303 

— — an Englishman's r . . 194 
Private judgment, what it means . 192 

among Catholics . . . 279 

right of Private Judgment or 

Private Right of Judgment ? . 20a 
Protestant, the word, does not de- 
note the_ profession of any particu- 
lar religion . . . . .40 

notions of the Divinity of 

Christ 332 

view of conversions . . . 197 

texts 

image worship .... 201 

persecution, rationale of . . 203 

Protestants and Eutychians . . 46 

and Arians ^ . . . .50 

Protestantism applies the inductive 
method to Scripture . . . 107 

the tyrannical oppression of 

the Irish . . . . 139 
has ever felt that it is not his- 
torical Christianity . . , 187 

drifting into scepticism • . 205 

German . 187 

Punishment, retributive . .• . 100 

Puritanism 190 

Pusey, Dr. . . . 19 

joins the Tractarian Move- 
ment m 38 

his distance from the Catholic 

Church .... « 39 



Rationalism, what it is . . • 109 
Real apprehension . , • .75 
Reality of the Catholic Church . 60 
Realization . . », . • •7°' 
Reason, how men really, in con- 
crete matters . . . . 79 
Relics «9« 



Index. 



353 



PAGE 

Religion, fundamental truths of, 

how commonly h^ld . . .85 
■ " "criptural," how manufac- 
tured 199 

of Catholics, the 288 

Religious life, the, how regarded by 

men of the world . , m . 75, 297 
u Reformation," the English . 170, 176 

the True . . . . 160 

Retributive punishment, the doc- 
trine of 100 

Revolution, the French, profanation 

of the rights of reason in . ,.204 
Right of Private Judgment or Pri- 
vate Right of Judgment? . . 202 
Rome in 1566 . . . . • 160 
*' Roman Catholics," the . • .177 

Kussell, Dr 52 

Ryder, Bp. . . • • . 29 

S. 

Saint, the idea of a . • • .321 
Saints, English • . • • • x 75 

— lingering imperfections of . 323 
— — eccentricities of ... 297 

miracles of . • • . 303 

Scepticism, the "duty of" • . 115 
" Scriptural religion " • • • 199 
Scott, the Kev. Thomas • • . 16 

his death . . • . 230 

Sentiment, the religion of . 95 

Sin, the doctrine of the Catholic 

Church concerning . . . 283 
— — original . • . • • • 34 2 
Succession the Apostolical, not an 

Anglican tradition . . '63 

Lord Macaulay's remarks on . 220 

Suffering, voluntary . . . 296 
Sumner, Abp., his "Apostolical 

Preaching" 17 

— his correspondence with Mr. 
Maskell, quoted . • . .211 

T. 

Texts, Protestant . « • . 199 

Theology, what it is . . . 102 

— — ana physical philosophy . . 106 

— — its instrument, deduction . 106 

— physical theology, what it is . 115 



PAGE 

Tracts for the Times, Dr. Newman 
begins ....... 

Tract XC £ 

Tractarian party, the, growth of . 41 

Movement, the . . . 237 

Transubstantiation .... 29a 

mocked at by the World . 318 

*' Trinity," the word . . .79 

the doctrine of the Most Il^Jy 293 

w Twopence," the extra . . 216 

U. 

Usages of Catholics, the, submitted 
to by faith ..... 259 

V. 

" Via media," the^ .... 39 
" Verses on Various Occasions " 

quoted ..... 32, 298 
Virgil, mediaeval opinion about . y$ 

W. 

Walker, Mr., his last words . 830 

Watchwords, political and religious, 

origin of 74 

Wesley, John . ... 229 
Whately, Abp., Dr. Newman's obli- 
gations to 18 

Whitfield, Mr., his death . .230 
William III., statue of, blown out of 

his saddle 20a 

Wiseman, Cardinal, visits to, in 

Rome . 30, 31 

— lectures on Catholicism in Lon- 
don ....... 40 

his article on the " Anglican 

Claim" 47 

places Dr. Newman in Bir- 
mingham . . . . .58 
World, the, religious philosophy of . 97 

its highest idea of man . . 98 

its hatred to the Church . . 318 

— — source of its hatred to the 

Church 99 

its view of a convert . . 267 

its view of a Catholic priest 268 

its highest compliment to a 

Catholic . • . • .3x8 



\ 



i 



